LIBRARY  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALihOKNIA,  DAW* 


NETTIE.- LI  L,?A\  t  L» 


XI 


EX  LIBRIS  > 


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A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 


A  Novel  of  Southern  California 


BY 


CONSTANCE  GODDARD  DU  BOIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  MODERN  PAGAN,"  "THE 
SHIELD  OF  THE  FLEUR-DE-LIS,"  ETC. 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  and  Company 

CHICAGO  and  NEW  YORK 

1900 


LIBRARY 


COPYRIGHT    igOO,    BY 
HERBERT    S.    STONE    &   CO 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

HELEN   HUNT    JACKSON, 

WHOSE  WARM  HEART  AND  ENLIGHTENED  SYMPATHY 

MADE  HER  THE  FRIEND  OF  THE  INDIAN, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED,  WITH 

ENDURING  ADMIRATION. 


A  SOUL   IN   BRONZE 


CHAPTER  I 

The  unclouded  sun  of  Southern  California 
flooded  land  and  sea  with  glory.  It  is  a  sun 
that  never  smites.  Its  life-giving  warmth  sends 
the  sluggish  blood  coursing  with  new  vigor 
through  the  veins,  draws  the  odor  from  the 
orange  blossoms,  the  pungent  scent  from  the 
eucalyptus  trees,  and  sets  the  bees  humming 
half -surfeited  amidst  the  fragrant  sage. 

Among  the  inland  hills  where  the  sea  breeze 
died  away  and  spent  itself,  the  mesas  lay  singed 
with  the  summer  drought  and  unshaded  from 
the  sky ;  and  where  a  brown  field  curved  its  out- 
line in  the  foreground  the  upward  movement  of 
the  transparent  air  could  be  seen  like  the  flicker- 
ing currents  above  a  heated  stove. 

The  little  railroad  train  with  its  motor  engine 
and  loads  of  full  and  empty  lemon  boxes  puffed 
and  snorted  into  the  station  which  was  its  ter- 
minus, and  here  discharged  its  few  remaining 
passengers  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  cul-de-sac 
among  the  hills ;  a  granite  quarry,  that  scarred  a 
1 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

cliff,  being  the  only  evidence  of  human  industry, 
and  a  rambling  one -story  hotel  half -buried  in 
the  shade  of  fig  trees  the  only  visible  place  of 
shelter  beyond  the  station  sheds.  The  observ- 
ant eye,  however,  might  find  tokens  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  stable  in  the  rear ;  and  the  traveller 
whose  ticket  assured  him  a  twenty-mile  ride  as 
the  completion  of  his  journey  knew  that  a  stage 
would  start  in  half  an  hour,  which  interim  was 
dedicated  to  luncheon  in  a  funereally-shaded 
room  in  the  sleepy  tavern. 

The  stage-road  made  its  exit  from  the  appar- 
ently impassable  mountain  wall  which  receded 
at  its  advance  along  the  course  of  a  rocky 
stream,  dry  and  voiceless  now,  but  in  winter  a 
formidable  torrent.  The  stage,  with  its  square 
body  painted  red,  and  its  enormous  yellow 
wheels  and  axles,  swung  and  pitched  in  the 
ascent  over  " chuck-holes"  and  rocks  buried 
beyond  view  by  six'inches  of  dust. 

"  You'll  find  the  seat  by  the  driver  the  easiest, 
Miss,"  the  station-agent  had  said,  as  he  assisted 
at  that  important  daily  function,  the  departure 
of  the  coach. 

4 'But  the  sun  is  so  hot,"  the  young  lady 
addressed  had  replied  in  a  musical  voice,  with  a 
doubtful  glance  at  the  driver's  high  and  un- 
shaded position.     "I  think  I  will  go  inside." 
2 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Putting  a  daintily-shod  foot  on  the  step,  and 
bending  her  pretty  head,  she  was  about  to  enter 
the  coach  when  she  drew  back  in  alarm.  "I 
can  not  ride  with  an  Indian,"  she  cried.  "Are 
we  the  only  passengers?" 

The  terror  in  her  tone  should  have  appealed 
to  masculine  chivalry,  but  the  station-agent  had 
retreated,  the  driver  sat  silent  and  indifferent, 
and  only  the  Indian,  a  well-dressed  and  civilized 
specimen  of  his  race,  heard  and  noted  the 
remark. 

He  rose,  lifted  his  hat,  and  retreated  by  the 
opposite  door,  mounting  at  a  stride  to  the  vacant 
place  on  the  box. 

The  whip  cracked,  the  four  horses  strained  at 
the  start,  and  with  a  lurch  and  a  bounce,  and 
wrapped  from  sight  like  an  enchanted  chariot 
in  a  cloud  of  golden  dust,  the  coach  departed 
and  the  ascent  began. 

Dorothea  Fairfax  blushed  and  nervously 
arranged  the  fastenings  of  her  veil. 

"I  wonder  if  I  offended  him,"  she  thought; 
"but  no,  he  is  only  an  Indian.  I  was  not 
actually  afraid,  of  course;  that  was  only  a  little 
piece  of  affectation.  But  fancy  Aunt  Sally's 
horror  if  she  could  see  me  starting  alone  on  such 
a  journey  with  a  driver  who  seems  to  be  dumb, 
and  a  wild — no,  a  tame — Indian  beside  him; 
3 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

and  only  my  poor  little  self  in  this  great  big 
bouncing  stage-coach.  Even  papa  might  be  a 
little  concerned — dear  papa!" 

The  stage,  lumbering  upward,  made  steady 
progress,  but  its  two  passengers  were  alike 
absorbed  in  memories  which  rendered  them 
half -oblivious  to  the  passing  landscape.  An- 
tonio Lachusa,  the  Indian,  was  reviewing  the 
history  of  his  life  with  a  courage  founded  upon 
that  philosophy  whose  foster -nurse  is  a  resigned 
despair.  He  saw  himself  as  a  child  of  eight 
confronted  with  a  startling  fairies'  gift,  a  rich 
lady's  patronage,  the  promise  of  an  education  in 
the  East,  later  on  wealth,  ease,  luxury,  and  all 
at  the  price  of  an  aching  homesick  heart.  He 
had  paid  the  price,  and  the  reward  had  been 
greater  than  he  hoped. 

Mrs.  Leigh,  his  eccentric  patroness,  had  made 
him,  in  effect,  her  adopted  child;  later  on,  her 
confidential  secretary  and  courier  during  the 
happy  vacations  when,  alone  together,  or  with  a 
few  chosen  friends,  they  had  explored  Europe 
and  the  Orient.  Her  wealth  and  influence  had 
won  for  him  the  highest  advantages  of  school 
and  college ;  and  buried  among  his  books  he  had 
lived  a  happy  life,  winning  prizes  in  his  studies 
and  honors  in  the  field  of  athletics,  with  her 
smile  of  approbation  for  the  crown  of  every 
4 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

endeavor.  Her  sudden  death  without  a  will 
had  left  him  penniless  and  desolate.  The  hopes 
and  purposes  of  years  failed  him  like  broken 
bubbles.  The  slow  steps  of  the  stage  horses 
straining  at  their  task  as  they  mounted  the  toil- 
some ascent  were  taking  him  home  to  the  reser- 
vation, a  stranger  uncertain  of  his  welcome. 

Dorothea  Fairfax,  his  fellow  traveller,  was 
taxing  her  bravery  to  resist  the  tears  which 
dimmed  her  vision.  A  stranger's  welcome 
awaited  her  also ;  and  her  heart  ached  with  the 
double  grief  of  a  parting  in  which  she  realized 
her  father's  sorrow  as  keenly  as  her  own. 
Edward  Fairfax  had  lived  for  years  self -exiled 
from  his  family,  an  unrepentant  prodigal,  ideal- 
ized by  the  clinging  affection  of  his  motherless 
daughter  into  a  hero  of  romance.  Dorothea 
had  been  educated  in  New  York  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  staid  conservatism,  but  ever  present  in 
her  fancy  was  the  subtle  consciousness  of  her 
father's  influence  drawing  her  close  to  him  in 
spite  of  all  opposing  forces.  She  lived  in  the 
thought  so  long  that  at  last  it  realized  itself  as 
wishes  will,  falling  then  into  dust  and  ashes  like 
Dead  Sea  fruit. 

She  did  not  relinquish  her  ideal,  but  she 
found  the  man  as  she  believed  in  him,  sadly  at 
variance  with  his  environment.  The  circle  in 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

which  he  moved  in  Valparaiso  was  distinguished 
by  an  easy  Bohemianism  not  without  its  stand- 
ards, though  these  were  novel  and  unacceptable 
to  Dorothea.  The  dark-eyed  seiiors  with  whom 
her  father  played  baccarat,  the  low-voiced 
senoras  who  smoked  cigarettes,  affronted  her 
prejudices  as  her  reserve  offended  theirs.  She 
drooped  in  the  uncongenial  atmosphere  like  a 
transplanted  flower ;  and  her  father  noted  the 
first  symptom  of  failing  health  with  keen  anx- 
iety. 

4 'Your  mother  went  just  so,"  he  said,  "with 
a  cough  that  was  neglected.  You  shall  have 
better  care.  This  is  no  place  for  my  fastidious 
little  girl.  I  will  send  you  to  your  uncle's 
widow  in  Southern  California,  and  when  I  can 
fix  up  my  business  I  will  follow  you.  We  will 
have  a  cosy  little  home  there  in  the  wilderness." 
This  plan,  combated  with  tears  by  Dorothea, 
was  immovably  adhered  to  by  her  father,  and 
her  present  journey  was  the  last  stage  in  its 
accomplishment. 

The  narrow  road,  cut  like  a  spiral  in  the 
mountain  side,  wound  steeply  upwards,  flanked 
on  one  side  by  an  escarpment  of  bare,  jagged 
rocks  hewn  to  make  a  passage,  on  the  other  by 
a  deep  ravine.  As  they  neared  the  head  of  the 
6 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

pass,  the  driver  drew  a  holster  from  beneath  the 
cushion,  and  began  to  unfasten  the  straps. 

1 4 What  is  that  for?"  asked  Antonio,  observ- 
ing the  movement  with  some  surprise. 

" We've  got  the  express  box  for  the  Governor 
mines  on  to-day,"  explained  the  driver.  "A 
pile  of  money  for  the  pay  of  the  hands.  There 
have  been  stages  held  up  along  here  before  now, 
and  there  have  been  rumors  of  danger  lately. 
I  expected  a  couple  of  men  for  a  guard  to-day 
when  they  sent  the  box,  but  they  didn't  come. 
Well,  I'll  be  ready  for  'em." 

As  he  spoke  he  laid  the  pistol  upon  the  seat 
to  secure  the  use  of  both  hands  for  the  reins, 
for  here  the  road  turned  sharply,  and  the  lead- 
ers plunged,  being  the  first  to  catch  sight  of  a 
horseman  who  was  confronting  them  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  a  handkerchief  tied  over 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  a  cocked  revolver 
in  his  upraised  hand. 

His  imperious  command,  the  driver's  loud 
exclamation,  the  crack  of  revolvers,  the  heavy 
lurching  of  the  coach,  came  in  quick  succes- 
sion; and  Antonio  found  himself,  he  hardly 
knew  how,  on  his  knees  before  the  box,  the 
tangled  reins  in  one  hand,  and  an  arm  around 
the  limp  and  half -lifeless  body  of  the  driver,  who 
had  fallen  back  upon  the  seat,  a  bullet  in  his  side. 
7 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"I  am  dead,"  he  gasped.  "The  money's 
safe." 

"You  defended  it  nobly,"  said  Antonio, 
encouragingly.  "  I  gave  the  scoundrel  a  bullet 
in  the  shoulder.  His  horse  threw  him  and  ran 
down  the  road.  If  he  has  no  accomplices  we 
are  safe." 

He  spoke  to  deaf  ears.  The  weight  upon  his 
arm  grew  heavier.  The  red  blood  clotted  upon 
the  shirt  front  and  ceased  to  flow.  The  dead 
man's  head  rocked  back  and  forth  under  the 
impulse  of  the  lurching  coach,  as  the  maddened 
horses  plunged  forward,  guided  at  a  hair's 
breadth  from  destruction  by  Antonio's  grasp 
upon  the  reins. 

Dorothea's  scream  had  followed  the  pistol 
shots.  She  had  seen  a  man  fall  beside  her,  and 
then  roll  face  downward  from  ledge  to  ledge, 
staining  the  rocks  with  blood.  She  held  her- 
self in  place  as  the  stage  bounded  along,  graz- 
ing the  angles  of  the  jutting  rocks,  twisting  and 
swaying  about  the  dizzy  spirals ;  and  with  bated 
breath  she  waited  for  the  end,  the  death  which 
must  come  in  the  likeness  of  that  which  she 
had  witnessed.  She  had  time  for  self-pity  at 
the  thought  of  her  youthful  face  and  form  so 
grievously  torn  and  mangled. 

The  pace  slackened;  the  coach  stopped, 
8 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Antonio  descended  from  his  seat,  and  with  the 
reins  in  his  hands  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"You  must  climb  upon  the  seat  and  hold  the 
horses,"  he  said.  "They  are  quiet  now,  but 
quivering  with  fear.  They  must  not  start  until 
I  have  laid  the  dead  man  decently  upon  the 
seats  here." 

"The  dead  man — a  robber?"  queried  Doro- 
thea. 

"No,  the  driver.  He  was  shot  before  I  could 
get  the  pistol  from  its  case." 

"And  you  killed  the  robber?"  she  asked. 

"Not  unless  the  fall  over  the  rocks  killed 
him,"  he  answered.  "I  shot  him  in  the 
shoulder,  and  his  horse  ran  and  threw  him." 

Dorothea  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She 
had  never  been  in  the  presence  of  death  before. 
The  horror  of  it  struck  a  chill  to  her  heart. 

Antonio  mistook  her  thought.  "And  now  it 
is  I  you  fear,"  he  exclaimed — "an  Indian. 
You  dread  them  all  as  savages.  Here,  take  the 
pistol.  See,  it  is  loaded.  Now  you  are  safe, 
are  you  not,  and  will  climb  as  I  beg  you  upon 
the  box?  There  may  be  others,  accomplices.  "We 
must  make  haste.  We  have  on  board  an  express 
box  with  money  which  must  be  safely  delivered. ' ' 

Dorothea  allowed  him  to  take  her  arm  and 
assist  her  to  mount  the  box.  She  held  the  four 
9 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

trembling  horses  well  in  hand  while  Antonio 
raised  the  heavy,  blood-stained  body  in  his 
arms,  and  descended  with  his  burden,  which  he 
placed  upon  an  improvised  bier  within  the 
coach.  She  did  not  blench  nor  turn  away  her 
eyes  from  the  sight ;  and  when  he  returned  and 
took  his  place  beside  her  she  relinquished  the 
reins  and  the  pistol  together. 

14 Take  it,"  she  said;  "I  am  not  afraid." 
Then  she  fainted  quietly  away  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Antonio  felt  his  blood  recede  and  fill  his  heart 
with  strange  emotion,  as  he  felt  the  soft  pressure 
of  her  head  upon  his  arm.  He  looked  down 
upon  her  in  bewilderment,  wondering  what  it 
were  best  to  do.  She  had  taken  off  her  veil, 
and  her  hat  was  pushed  back  upon  the  forehead, 
where  loose  curling  locks  were  set  astray  by  the 
wind.  The  death-like  pallor  of  her  face  de- 
tracted from  its  beauty,  but  gave  to  it  the  pathos 
of  helpless  appeal.  The  various  methods  for 
her  restoration  which  knowledge  suggested, 
prudence  rejected ;  for  he  did  not  dare  to  face 
the  possibility  that  her  eyes  might  open  with 
terror  upon  him.  It  was  with  a  pang  of  anguish 
that  he  realized  that  he  could  be  to  this  beauti- 
ful girl  an  object  of  instinctive  fear  and  aver- 
sion. 

10 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Dorothea  stirred  and  opened  her  eyes.  Her 
vision  was  clouded ;  the  blood  sang  in  her  ears ; 
she  remained  leaning  upon  Antonio's  shoulder, 
unconscious  of  this  support;  and  in  that 
moment  when  her  bewildered  look  passively 
met  his,  Antonio's  heart  gave  a  bound,  and 
then  stood  still. 

She  raised  her  head,  pushed  her  hat  squarely 
into  place,  leaned  back  upon  the  cushion,  and 
said,  in  a  quavering  voice,  "I  am  rather 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  have  fainted,  I  believe." 

"I  believe  so,"  replied  Antonio. 

Her  eyes  brightened  with  returning  courage. 
This  Indian  was  a  simple  soul  with  a  good  face, 
kind,  mild  and  dignified.  She  was  safe  with 
him,  and  only  the  horror  of  the  burden  which 
they  bore  within  the  coach  remained,  and  that 
she  must  try  to  forget. 

1  'I  have  always  lived  in  the  city,"  she  said, 
as  much  to  herself  as  to  the  Indian.  "I  am 
not  prepared  for  the  startling  adventures  of 
Western  life. " 

Antonio  made  no  reply.  He  was  struggling 
to  crush  within  himself  the  very  thought  of  the 
emotion  which  had  set  his  pulses  tingling.  For 
a  fleeting  moment  he  had  known  what  love 
might  be ;  and,  with  a  new  and  bitter  pang  of 
revelation,  he  saw  that  he  was  inevitably  cut 
11 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

off  from  all  the  best  and  tender est  joys  of  life. 
He  had  climbed  too  far  above  his  lawful  place, 
yet  he  could  never  reach  and  keep  a  higher 
level.  Custom  and  prejudice  would  act  as 
weights  to  drag  him  down. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  town  where  the  dead 
man  must  be  taken?"  asked  Dorothea,  nerv- 
ously. 

"I  have  not  been  over  this  road  for  fifteen 
years,"  he  answered,  "but  I  think  there  is  no 
nearer  place  than  Hilton,  a  little  town  we  pass 
through.  It  must  be  ten  miles  from  here." 

"Where  have  you  been  these  fifteen  years?" 
asked  Dorothea,  for  the  sake  of  making  conver- 
sation. Under  the  circumstances  it  was  neces- 
sary to  talk  even  to  an  Indian. 

"At  school  and  college  in  the  East,"  he 
replied;  "and  during  vacations,  in  Egypt,  Pales- 
tine and  India;  later,  in  France  and  England." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  rich  man,  then?"  said  Dor- 
othea. 

"I  have  not  a  penny.  The  friend  who  did 
all  this  for  me  is  dead." 

"I  wondered  if  there  were  any  rich  Indians," 
she  said.  "I  shall  soon  know  all  about  them 
and  their  ways,  I  suppose,  as  the  aunt  whom  I 
am  going  to  visit  is  teacher  of  the  Indian  school 
at  Casa  Blanca." 

12 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"You  will  live  at  Casa  Blanca?"  asked  An- 
tonio. 

"Yes,  it  is  to  be  for  the  present  my  home." 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  Antonio,  gravely. 
"With  your  fear  of  Indians  you  can  not  be 
happy  there." 

She  smiled  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  "If 
they  are  all  like  you  I  shall  not  be  afraid,"  she 
replied. 

"But  I  thought  you  had  a  horror  of  me." 

"Oh,  no;  how  stupid  of  you!  I  can  tell  a 
good  Indian  from  a  bad  Indian.  That  was  a 
silly  speech  I  made,  and  I  little  thought  that 
after  all  I  should  have  to  ride  miles  and  miles  at 
your  side  with  that  terrible  thing  behind  us  in 
the  coach.  It  is  my  punishment,  I  suppose." 

Antonio  made  no  reply. 

"Where  is  your  home?"  asked  Dorothea.  To 
a  gentleman  she  would  not  upon  first  acquaint- 
ance have  put  categorical  questions,  but  a 
question  is  in  most  cases  the  only  form  of 
conversation  that  can  be  used  with  an  inferior. 

"My  home,  like  yours,  is  to  be  at  Casa 
Blanca.  I  belong  on  the  reservation  there." 

"Oh!"    said   Dorothea;    and    she   made   no 
attempt    to    continue    the    conversation,   but, 
spreading  her  parasol,  leaned  back  in  her  seat, 
and  fell  to  observing  the  scenery. 
13 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

The  road,  having  climbed  the  steep  grade, 
debouched  upon  a  rolling  mesa,  or  high  table- 
land, at  whose  further  edge  a  line  of  jagged 
mountains  cut  the  horizon.  Part  of  the  land 
had  been  reclaimed  for  cultivation,  and  a  wide 
field  of  barley  stubble  lay  beside  the  highway, 
defended  from  encroachment  by  the  ubiquitous 
bar  bed- wire  fence. 

"Look,"  said  Antonio,  "at  the  little  birds 
upon  the  ground." 

Dorothea  followed  his  glance,  and  saw  that 
where  each  fence-post  cast  a  narrow  shadow,  a 
row  of  little  birds  sat  one  beside  another  in  the 
limited  shade. 

"How  comical  they  look,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing, "ranged  like  scholars  in  a  class!" 

"  'When  all  the  birds  are  faint  with  the  hot 
sun,'  "  quoted  Antonio;  "but  here  there  are 
no  cooling  trees  where  they  can  hide." 

He  spoke  as  he  would  have  done  to  Mrs. 
Leigh,  who,  he  was  sure,  would  quickly  have 
responded,  "Nor  does  that  parched  barley  stub- 
ble suggest  'the  new-mown  mead' ;"  and  her  look 
would  have  met  his  with  a  smile,  and  he  would 
have  felt  the  happy  sense  of  good-fellowship 
which  was  the  one  joy  he  had  counted  on  in 
life. 

Dorothea  only  stared.  Perhaps  she  did  not 
14 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

know  her  Keats ;  perhaps  she  thought  Antonio 
forward  in  the  parade  of  his  book-learning. 

It  was  indeed  very  hot.  The  horses  sweated 
at  their  task,  and  the  continuous  cloud  of  dust 
in  which  they  moved  stuck  to  their  flanks  and 
backs,  and  turned  then1  coats  to  rusty  yellow. 
It  powdered  Dorothea's  hair  and  eyelashes, 
while  the  unfriendly  sun  burned  her  cheeks  and 
the  tip  of  her  nose.  She  was  neither  happy  nor 
comfortable,  yet  she  uttered  no  complaint.  She 
possessed  a  well-bred  serenity  which  she  endeav- 
ored to  maintain  at  an  extreme  when  circum- 
stances put  it  to  the  test. 

Antonio's  stoicism  surpassed  her  own,  for  it 
was  not  until  they  had  crossed  the  mesa,  and 
stopped  in  the  welcome  shade  of  some  cotton- 
wood  trees  where  there  was  a  well,  that  Doro- 
thea noticed,  as  he  prepared  to  water  the 
horses,  that  one  of  his  arms  was  disabled  and 
his  coat-sleeve  stained  with  blood. 

*  'You  are  wounded,  "she  exclaimed  in  concern. 

"Yes,  the  robber  gave  us  two  shots  before  I 
hit  him.  One  finished  poor  Jo  in  there,  the 
other  went  through  the  fleshy  part  of  my  arm. 
I  had  to  shoot  with  my  left  hand.  That  is 
why  I  did  not  kill  him.  I  am  very  glad  it  hap- 
pened so.  I  am  thankful  in  my  deepest  heart 
that  I  did  not  kill  a  man." 
15 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

4 'Oh,  oh!"  said  Dorothea,  "how  selfish  and 
unthinking  I  have  been!  I  noticed,  too,  that 
you  drove  with  your  left  hand.  Let  me  help 
you  with  the  horses,  but  first  roll  up  your  sleeve 
and  let  me  look  at  your  arm." 

"No,  you  would  faint  again  at  the  sight  of 
blood;  that  is  why  I  said  nothing.  I  thought 
perhaps  I  ought  to  bind  it  up,  for  the  bleeding 
began  to  make  me  dizzy ;  but  at  last  it  stopped. 
My  clothes  stuck  to  it  and  closed  the  wound. 
It  is  best  to  leave  it  so. " 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  she  said. 
"  I  am  brave  when  there  is  need.  Let  me  wash  the 
wound  and  bind  it  with  a  clean  handkerchief." 

Antonio  shook  his  head.  "We  ought,  before 
long,  to  come  upon  a  man  who  can  do  it,"  he 
said.  "It  is  strange  that  we  have  gone  so  far 
without  meeting  a  wagon." 

"I  dread  to  meet  people,  for  they  would  stop 
us  and  annoy  us  with  morbid  curiosity  and 
questions,"  she  replied. 

"I  should  be  glad  to  find  some  one  who  could 
ride  inside  with  the  dead,"  said  Antonio.  "I 
do  not  like  to  leave  him  at  the  mercy  of  these 
jolts.  He  rolls  from  side  to  side.  It  is  pitiful 
to  see  a  corpse  so  disordered." 

"I  will  sit  there  if  you  wish,"  said  Dorothea, 
growing  pale. 

16 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"No,  no;  I  only  wish  that  I  could  find  some 
other  way  for  you  to  make  the  rest  of  the 
journey.  Ah,  there  comes  a  wagon.  We  do 
not  meet  it,  but  it  overtakes  us." 

A  light  wagon,  drawn  by  two  spirited  chest- 
nut horses,  drew  up  beneath  the  trees,  and  the 
occupants,  two  young  men,  leaped  out. 

"We  heard  that  there  had  been  a  hold-up;  is 
it  true?"  cried  one. 

"Yes,  by  ,  and  here  is  poor  Jo  Wil- 
liams dead,"  exclaimed  the  other,  springing 
upon  the  step,  and  looking  into  the  coach. 

Both  raised  their  eyes  at  the  same  moment 
and  caught  sight  of  Dorothea  on  the  box,  and 
they  mechanically  removed  their  hats  while 
they  gazed  in  fixed  surprise.  Antonio  drew 
them  aside  to  spare  Dorothea  the  annoyance 
she  had  feared ;  but  after  he  had  been  minutely 
questioned  and  cross-questioned,  Dorothea, 
alighting,  came  to  his  relief. 

"Do  not  keep  him  talking  any  longer,  if  you 
please,"  she  said.  "He  is  badly  wounded. 
Will  you  not  dress  his  arm?" 

"I  was  about  to  ask  that  favor,"  said  An- 
tonio, "though  the  wound  is  a  trifle;  and  also 
that  one  of  you  gentlemen  will  take  the  young 
lady  in  the  carriage  with  you  and  drive  on 
ahead.  It  is  too  hard  for  her  to  sit  here  in  the 
17 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

hot  sun,  knowing  all  the  time  that  the  dead 
man  is  there  close  behind  her." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  mind  that,"  she  said.  "I  am 
not  a  child.  At  first  I  felt  it,  but  now  I  have 
become  used  to  it." 

"But  it  will  get  on  your  nerves  badly,  so  long 
a  strain.  The  Indian  is  right,"  said  the  taller 
of  the  men.  ''Please  seat  yourself  in  my 
buggy.  Nelson,  go  with  the  Indian,  after  you 
have  looked  at  his  arm." 

"If  you  will  drive,"  said  Antonio  to  the 
young  man,  who  came  forward,  "I  will  sit 
inside  with  the  corpse.  I  feel  that  I  owe  him 
that  respect." 

It  was  thus  arranged,  and  Dorothea,  taking 
the  advance  in  the  light  open  buggy  with  the 
spirited  horses,  whose  owner  set  them  going  at  a 
spanking  pace,  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"It  was  terrible,"  she  said.  "I  am  so  glad 
to  be  free  from  it." 

Nature  met  her  eyes  with  a  smiling  reflection 
of  her  happier  mood.  The  open  mesas  were  for 
a  time  at  an  end,  and  the  road  wound  upward 
between  large  live  oaks  whose  gnarled  and 
twisted  branches  made  arabesques  of  shade  upon 
the  ground.  A  tiny  stream  ran  beside  the  road, 
keeping  green  the  grasses  and  shrubs  that 
bordered  its  course,  while  the  quivering  leaves 
18 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

of  the  cottonwoods  danced  overhead.  A  cool 
breeze  blew,  and  a  buzzard,  balancing  himself 
against  it,  soared  aloft  with  widespread  unflap- 
ping  wings. 

"It  was  a  sad  affair,  and  I  am  sorry  that  you 
should  have  been  there,"  responded  the  young 
man.  " Nelson  and  I  were  coming  up  the  grade 
when  we  met  a  riderless  horse,  and  further  on 
we  saw  a  man  half-way  up  the  side  of  the  canon 
dragging  himself  from  rock  to  rock.  We 
shouted  to  him,  but  he  did  not  answer,  and  we 
drove  on  without  concerning  ourselves  very 
much  with  the  matter  until  we  met  a  boy  who 
had  been  shooting  rabbits  on  the  mesa,  and  he 
told  us  he  had  seen  the  stage  go  by  with  a  dead 
man  in  it,  so  we  whipped  up  and  hurried  after. 
But  now  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  Is  this 
your  first  visit  to  California?" 

"Yes.  I  have  always  lived  in  New  York, 
and  lately  spent  a  year  in  Valparaiso." 

"And  you  will  fancy  us  a  lot  of  bloodthirsty 
desperadoes;  but  I  assure  you  it  is  the  most 
peaceable  country  in  the  world.  Young  ladies 
ride  about  everywhere  alone,  and  nothing  ever 
happens." 

"After  this  I  prefer  that  things  do  not  hap- 
pen," replied  Dorothea.     "I  will  welcome  the 
monotony  of  Casa  Blanca." 
19 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"You  do  not  stop  at  Hilton,  then?  I  am 
sorry  for  that,  for  I  live  there.  I  am  a  lawyer, 
Harry  Burke,  at  your  service.  I  have  clients 
who  live  at  Casa  Blanca.  Do  you  know  the 
Wilsons  there?" 

"No,  I  have  never  been  there;  but  my  uncle's 
widow,  Senora  Aguilar,  is  teacher  of  the  Indian 
school." 

"Oh,  I  know  Mrs.  Aguilar.  We  anglicize 
the  title,"  answered  Burke.  "She  is  a  partic- 
ular friend  of  mine,  and  a  charming  woman,  in 
spite  of  her  enthusiastic  fondness  for  the 
Indians.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  happy 
with  her,  or  at  least  that  you  will  be  very  fond 
of  her.  I  cannot  promise  that  the  life  there 
will  be  altogether  congenial  to  a  young  lady 
accustomed  to  gaiety  and  to  a  large  circle  of 
friends." 

"I  have  never  had  many  friends,"  said  Doro- 
thea, won  to  confidence  by  the  good-humored 
glance  of  his  honest  brown  eyes.  "I  have  had 
rather  a  lonely  life,  until  lately,  when  I  have 
been  with  my  father  at  Valparaiso ;  and  there 
we  had  society,  or  at  least  people  to  talk  to,  eat 
with  and  dance  with ;  but  of  real  friends  none 
at  all,  I  think." 

She  spoke  a  little  sadly,  and  Burke  answered 
kindly:  "You  will  find  plenty  here,  I  hope. 
20 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

We  are,  as  a  rule,  warm-hearted,  well-meaning 
people,  and  I  can  answer  for  one  or  two  who 
will  stand  the  test  as  real  friends.  I  have  told 
you  that  your  aunt  has  given  me  that  place  with 
her.  Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  later  on 
to  include  me  in  your  list." 

"I  am  sure  that  I  ought  to  do  that,"  said 
Dorothea,  smiling.  "You  rescued  me  from  an 
uncomfortable  position.  My  journey  is  so 
much  pleasanter  than  it  might  have  been." 

"If  I  remember,  it  was  the  Indian,  not  I, 
who  should  have  the  credit  for  suggesting  the 
change.  I  am  afraid  I  should  not  have  thought 
of  it,  though  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  be  of 
service  to  you.  I  was  intent  with  the  thought 
of  the  murder,  and,  to  be  honest,  I  did  not  con- 
sider your  position  at  all." 

Dorothea  felt  a  secret  chagrin.  She  would 
have  preferred  that  he  had  accepted  her  thanks, 
even  if  he  did  not  altogether  deserve  them.  A 
woman  never  appreciates  the  blundering  hon- 
esty that  fails  of  the  chance  for  a  compliment. 

"At  any  rate,  I  may  thank  you  for  the  use  of 
your  easy  carriage  and  fine  horses,"  she  said. 

"I  hope  you  will  have  many  drives  behind 
them,"  he  replied.     "I  could  drive  blindfolded 
over    every    road    between    Hilton    and    Casa 
Blanca.     You  will  often  see  me  there." 
21 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Dorothea  had  removed  her  gloves  to  push 
back  the  rebellious  locks  from  her  forehead. 
Burke  noted  the  delicacy  of  the  hands  and  the 
polished  brilliancy  of  the  rosy  nails,  which 
denoted  the  hand  of  an  aristocrat,  and  con- 
firmed the  impression  made  by  her  voice,  al- 
though the  dust  and  sun  had  done  their  worst 
in  transforming  Dorothea's  outer  person,  even 
her  pretty  face,  into  the  semblance  of  a  daughter 
of  the  people. 

"I  suppose  I  must  look  like  a  fright,"  she 
said  in  self-conscious  deprecation. 

"We  give  up  caring  about  looks  out  here," 
he  replied.  "It  is  not  safe  in  California  to 
judge  people  by  their  clothes." 

"But  my  clothes  were  very  nice  when  I 
started,"  she  answered,  naively;  "please  give 
me  credit  for  that." 

"I  do,"  he  said.  "I  give  you  credit  for 
much  more  than  that." 

His  look  and  tone  expressed  such  sincere 
admiration  that  Dorothea,  who  had  a  moment 
before  been  wishing  for  a  compliment,  now  with- 
drew within  herself  like  a  little  frightened  snail. 

Arrived  at  Hilton,  Burke  conducted  his  guest 
to  a  seat  upon  the  hotel  porch,  thickly  shaded 
with  vines,  where  he  had  a  table  set  with  a  cold 
lunch,  and  himself  prepared  to  make  tea. 
22 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"I  know  the  capabilities  of  the  place,"  he 
remarked.  "Being  a  bachelor,  I  am  condemned 
to  take  my  meals  here.  They  range  from  bad 
to  indifferent ;  but  I  have  a  private  stock  of  tea, 
and  know  how  to  brew  it.  By  the  time  my 
horses  have  had  their  dinner,  the  stage  will  be 
here.  We  shall  learn  when  the  inquest  is  to  be 
held,  and  then  I  will  drive  you  on  to  Casa 
Blanca." 

Dorothea  paled  at  the  thought  of  an  inquest, 
wondering  whether  she  should  be  summoned  as 
witness,  but  she  made  no  allusion  to  her  anxi- 
eties. Burke  watched  her  with  pleasure  as  she 
sat  opposite  to  him  at  table.  She  gave  him  the 
impression  of  a  character  intrinsically  sweet  and 
strong,  although  time  might  be  needed  to 
develop  all  the  strength,  and  sorrow  might  lay 
a  frosty  finger  upon  the  fruit  before  its  full 
sweetness  should  appear.  She  had  not  yet 
grown  beyond  the  happy  self-concentration  of 
youth,  when  the  external  touches  only  the  sur- 
face of  the  consciousness.  She  did  not  dream 
of  analyzing  her  companion  with  any  answering 
keenness  of  observation.  She  knew  intuitively 
that  he  was  a  friend.  She  felt  that  he  admired 
her;  and  the  thought  was  vaguely  pleasant,  yet 
it  set  her  pulses  astir  with  a  slight  alarm,  and 
awoke  a  shy  reserve  which  appeared  only  in 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

added  dignity  and  grace.  Burke  watched  her 
delicate  hands  at  work  among  the  teacups  with 
a  sudden  realization  of  the  vapid  emptiness  of 
his  solitary  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

While  the  two  still  sat  at  table,  an  open  farm- 
wagon,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  shaggy  horses,  ap- 
proached the  inn.  Its  occupants  were  a  woman 
in  a  simbonnet  and  gingham  gown,  an  old 
Indian  who  acted  as  driver,  and  half  a  dozen 
dark-skinned,  smiling  children  who  sat  upon 
the  straw  behind. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Aguilar,"  said  Burke,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "I  will  bring  her  to  you,"  and  he 
advanced  hatless  into  the  blazing  sunshine. 

uHow  do  you  do,  Harry?"  said  the  woman  in 
the  sunbonnet,  giving  him  her  hand  as  he  aided 
her  descent.  "I  came  down  to-day  to  meet  the 
stage.  I  have  not  seen  you  since  I  got  the 
letter,  so  you  do  not  know  the  news.  I  am  to 
have  a  guest,  a  niece  of  my  husband,  who  is 
coming  to  live  with  me.  I  am  just  a  little 
afraid  to  meet  her,  and  yet  I  could  not  wait. 
Good  old  Jose  and  some  of  the  children  came 
with  me.  Don't  they  look  well  in  their  sum- 
mer suits?  You  recognize  some  of  them,  I  am 
sure.  This  is  Anna,  who  had  the  fever  last 
spring " 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

4 'Dear  Mrs.  Aguilar,  I  must  venture  to  inter- 
rupt you.  Your  niece  is  here,  waiting  for  you 
on  the  porch.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  the  first 
meeting,  and  now  I  will  leave  you  together." 

Dorothea  appeared,  holding  out  her  hands. 

44  My  dearest  child,  how  did  you  manage  to 
fall  from  the  skies?  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you, 
and  so  surprised." 

A  kiss  was  exchanged  in  the  depths  of  the 
sunbonnet. 

44  Come  here,  Manuel  and  Martha,  Anna  and 
Samuel,"  said  Mrs.  Aguilar.  44This  is  my 
niece,  Miss  Fairfax,  come  all  the  way  from 
South  America  to  visit  us.  They  drove  the  ten 
miles  just  to  be  the  first  to  see  you,  my  dear. 
How  well  you  look,  and  how  pretty  you  are! 
You  don't  mind  my  saying  that,  do  you?  And 
you  are  just  a  little  bit  like  your  uncle ;  perhaps 
you  remember  him — the  curve  of  the  mouth 
and  chin  is  like  him." 

She  held  Dorothea's  hand  and  pressed  it 
warmly  and  lingeringly.  She  was  tall  and 
slight,  and  stooped  a  little  as  if  worn  with  the 
hardships  of  her  lot ;  but  she  was  full  of  tireless 
energy  and  cheer.  Her  voice  was  charming. 

44 Come,  Jose,  water  the  horses,  and  give  them 
their  barley,  and  then  we  must  go  home.  No 
time  for  stopping  at  the  store  to-day.  Miss 
26 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Dolly  will  sit  on  the  seat  between  us.  There  is 
room." 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  wait  for  Mr.  Burke's 
permission  to  leave,"  said  Dorothea.  "The 
coach  was  held  up,  the  driver  killed,  and  there 
is  to  be  an  inquest." 

Mrs.  Aguilar  was  loud  in  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  distress.  Poor  Jo  Williams,  she 
knew  him,  and  she  knew  his  wife,  who  had  a 
six-months-old  baby.  How  sad,  how  tragic, 
how  trying  for  Dolly!  She  would  stay  with 
her,  of  course,  and  Jose  could  stable  the  horses 
under  the  cotton  wood  tree  by  the  brook.  They 
could  drive  home  by  moonlight  if  necessary. 

Burke  returned  when  the  stage  drove  up, 
crowded  closely  by  curious  outrunners  who 
swarmed  about  it  on  foot  and  on  horseback, 
attracted  from  all  quarters  by  news  of  the 
freight  it  bore. 

The  corpse  of  the  murdered  man  was  carried 
on  an  improvised  litter  to  an  undertaker's  shop 
near  by.  The  coroner  was  summoned  by  tele- 
graph. 

"It  may  be  twenty-four  hours  before  he 
arrives,"  said  Burke.  "You  can  come  down 
again  if  necessary,  Miss  Fairfax.  Meantime,  I 
hope  you  will  allow  me  to  take  you  the  rest  of 
the  way.  I  am  going  to  Casa  Blanca  this  even- 
27 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ing.  I  have  business  with  a  client  there,  and 
to-morrow  my  horses  will  be  again  at  your  dis- 
posal." 

"Oh,  Harry,"  cried  Mrs.  Aguilar,  before 
Dorothea  could  reply,  "it  is  not  true  that  you 
are  going  to  bring  that  suit  against  the 
Indians?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is,  Mrs.  Aguilar;  but  do  not 
think  too  hardly  of  me.  I  must  do  my  client's 
work." 

"The  devil's  work!"  she  answered  energetic- 
ally. "I  did  not  believe  it  of  you.  No,  Dolly 
need  not  use  your  carriage.  We  have  room  to 
spare.  I  came  ten  miles  for  the  sake  of  her 
company.  You  do  not  mind  sitting  a  little 
close,  dear?" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Dorothea,  looking  some- 
what doubtfully  at  old  Jose",  who  stood  awaiting 
orders. 

"We  will  go  home,  Jose,  home  at  once." 

Burke  was  chagrined  that  Mrs.  Aguilar  per- 
sistently avoided  his  look,  and  that  under  the 
impulse  of  her  authority  Dorothea  was  led  away 
without  the  opportunity  for  a  farewell. 

She  bowed  and  looked  after  him  a  little  rue- 
fully when  he  passed  them  on  the  road,  his 
horses  spinning  onwards,  while  the  heavy  wagon 
creaked  and  lumbered  up  the  long  ascent. 
28 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Antonio  was  left  to  trudge  the  ten  miles  to 
his  destination,  but  he  was  not  alone.  A  group 
of  Indian  youths  found  more  interest  in  attach- 
ing themselves  to  his  company  than  in  hanging 
upon  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  or  peering 
through  the  darkened  windows  of  the  under- 
taker's shop. 

Two  or  three  rode  bronco  ponies,  the  others, 
like  Antonio,  went  on  foot,  and  the  sociability 
of  the  riders  kept  the  pedestrians  buried  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  and  often  in  danger  of  being 
trodden  under  foot.  Good  humor  prevailed; 
and  a  trifling  discomfort  seemed  only  to  furnish 
cause  for  merriment.  Their  welcome  of  An- 
tonio was  tinged  with  a  shade  of  awe.  They 
knew  that  he  had  been  to  college,  wore  fine 
clothes,  and  was  reputed  to  possess  fabulous 
wealth.  At  the  same  time  he  was  one  of  them, 
a  member  of  the  tribe,  speaking  their  language, 
and  associated  with  their  earliest  recollections. 

"Do  you  remember,  Antonio,  how  we  climbed 
the  cliff  and  stole  the  eagle's  eggs?"  asked  a 
good-looking  young  man  shyly. 

"Why,  Felipe,  is  it  you?"  responded  Antonio. 
"I  should  never  have  known  you  for  the  round- 
faced  boy  of  eight  who  was  my  rival  in  every 
sport." 

"And  I  remember,"  said  another,  "the  day 
29 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

that  Antonio  left  us,  how  we  peeped  from  be- 
hind the  house  and  watched  the  carriage  and 
the  lady  in  it,  and  Antonio  beside  her  staring 
like  an  owl  and  ready  to  cry,  but  braving  it  out 
and  full  of  his  importance." 

''And  you  wished  it  was  you,"  said  Felipe. 

"No,  not  then,  but  later,  when  we  heard 
how  rich  he  was.  It  must  be  a  fine  thing  to  be 
rich." 

All  echoed  this  sentiment  with  wistful  glances 
at  then*  mate. 

Antonio  longed  for  solitude.  He  was  unused 
to  sociability,  and  the  demands  of  curiosity 
wearied  him.  Half-way  to  the  rancheria  he 
found  an  opportunity  to  detach  himself  from  his 
companions. 

Two  broncos  came  clattering  down  the  stony 
grade,  one  ridden  by  an  aged  Indian  woman, 
the  other  by  a  younger  one  carrying  in  front  of 
her  a  two -year -old  child.  At  sight  of  the  pro- 
cession advancing  upwards,  both  nodded  greet- 
ings. 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Antonio,  with  a 
vague  stir  of  recollection. 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Felipe.  "You  have  be- 
come a  stranger  indeed.  That  is  Angela  and 
Marta,  your  grandmother  and  sister.  This  is 
Antonio  Lachusa,"  he  called  out,  completing 
30 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

the  introduction,  and  his   companions   smiled 
broadly,  realizing  the  humor  of  the  situation. 

Marta  did  not  smile. 

"I  will  leave  you,"  said  Antonio.  "I  will 
stay  with  them  for  a  while;"  and  after  some 
debate  of  the  matter  his  escort  reluctantly 
departed,  cheered  by  the  consciousness  of  the 
unusual  intelligence  which  they  carried  with 
them  to  Casa  Blanca. 

Angela  was  deaf,  and  did  not  realize  that  the 
stranger  was  of  interest  to  her,  so  she  urged  her 
horse  onwards  at  its  slow,  shambling  gait ;  but 
Marta  paused,  held  out  her  hand,  and  looked 
shyly  at  her  brother. 

"You  are  welcome,"  she  said. 

"And  you  to  me.     Whose  is  the  child?" 

"Mine,"  said  Marta. 

"And  who  is  your  husband?" 

"I  have  none,"  she  answered. 

At  sight  of  Antonio's  face,  she  bent  her  head 
and  wept.  "Oh,  brother,  brother,  why  did  you 
come  back?"  she  added. 

"I  came  back  to  my  home,"  he  replied,  "but 
I  find  it  dishonored.  I  feel  now  that  I  have 
no  home." 

"It  is  not  my  fault,  brother,"  she  sobbed. 

Antonio  ground  his  teeth.  "And  the  man?" 
he  gasped. 

31 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

4 'If  I  tell  yon,  you  will  wish  to  kill  him," 
she  answered.  "I  know  it  by  your  face." 

"Yes,  I  would  like  to  kill  him,"  he  replied. 

"But  promise  me  you  will  be  patient." 

"I  will  be  patient,"  said  Antonio.  "An 
Indian  is  not  allowed  to  avenge  his  honor. 
What  is  left  for  him  but  patience?" 

"He  is  the  postmaster  and  store-keeper,"  she 
said,  "a  rich  man  and  a  white  man.  He  sells 
liquor  to  the  Indians.  One  day  he  gave  me  a 
glass  of  cider  with  a  drug  in  it." 

Antonio  staggered  and  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
forehead. 

"I  must  follow  grandmother,"  continued 
Marta,  regarding  him  with  a  mournful  look. 
"We  are  going  to  visit  Manuel's  wife  at  Leona. 
She  has  a  fever  and  wishes  grandmother  to 
nurse  her,  and  I  will  work  for  her  till  she  is 
well.  It  is  a  change.  We  have  been  hungry 
at  the  rancheria.  Now  you  have  come,  brother, 
we  shall  all  be  rich." 

He  made  no  reply,  and  Marta,  after  lingering 
awhile  in  silence,  shook  her  bridle  and  moved 
on  with  drooping  head. 

Antonio  stood  in  the  middle  of   the  road 

where  she  had  left  him.     The  afternoon  sun 

beat  fiercely  upon  the  dusty  highway.     Behind 

lay  the  world  of  wide  thought,  high  endeavor, 

32 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

eager  ambitions;  before  him,  the  rancheria, 
narrow,  barren,  poverty-blighted;  but  he  had 
no  choice,  he  must  go  onward. 

The  white  house  which  gave  its  name  to  the 
Indian  reserve,  the  post-office  and  the  small 
settlement  about  it  was  a  long,  stuccoed  build- 
ing, erected  in  Spanish  style  around  three  sides 
of  a  courtyard  upon  which  the  doors  of  the 
dwelling  rooms  opened,  those  of  the  upper  story 
giving  upon  a  gallery  supported  by  round 
wooden  pillars  and  enclosed  with  ornamental 
lattice-work.  The  court  once  boasted  a  foun- 
tain set  about  with  palm-trees  and  rose-bushes, 
but  the  basin  now  was  empty;  a  headless  god- 
dess held  a  broken  urn,  the  palm-trees  were 
dead,  and,  lacking  the  necessary  irrigation,  the 
roses  had  ceased  blooming  during  the  summer 
drought. 

The  house  had  been  built  by  an  Englishman 
who  had  sunk  a  fortune  in  an  unsuccessful  gold 
mine,  and  at  last  deserted  it  and  his  property 
together,  selling  at  a  loss  to  the  present  owner, 
a  retired  merchant  and  speculator  who  still  had 
hopes  of  the  gold  mine,  which  he  was  preparing 
to  capitalize. 

The  white  house,  now  called  "Wilson's,"  was 
occupied  by  the  senior  possessor  of  the  name, 
33 


A  SOUL  in  BBONZE 

his  wife,  two  daughters,  and  the  husband  of  the 
elder  of  the  two,  who  kept  the  post-office  and 
conducted  a  productive  gin-shop,  dignified  by 
the  name  of  store,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Indian 
reservation. 

Burke's  chestnut  horses  turned  into  the  car- 
riage drive  unguided ;  he  flung  the  reins  to  a 
stable-boy  and  entered  the  paved  courtyard, 
which  echoed  to  his  tread.  At  his  approach  a 
hand  stole  out  from  the  trellised  balcony  and 
flung  a  shower  of  red  blossoms  plucked  from  a 
climbing  vine  upon  his  head.  He  caught  the 
falling  flowers  and  looked  up  with  a  smile  as  he 
fastened  one  in  his  buttonhole. 

As  he  disappeared  within  the  doorway  the 
young  girl,  who  had  been  watching  him  with 
shining  eyes,  sprang  from  her  hiding-place 
among  the  vines  and  unceremoniously  entered 
her  sister's  room. 

"Nell,"  she  said,  "Harry  is  here.  He  has 
just  come,  two  hours  late." 

"Have  you  been  counting  the  hours?"  asked 
her  sister,  a  pretty  but  care-worn  matron  of 
twenty-five,  who  stood  at  the  mirror  adding  a 
finishing  touch  to  her  toilet  by  the  application 
of  a  powder-puff.  "Tell  me,  Bess,  do  I  look  like 
a  fright?  I  cried  my  eyes  out  last  night,  and 
I  show  it,  I  know." 

34 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Do  not  worry;  no  one  will  notice  it,"  was 
the  careless  reply.  "But  what  do  you  suppose 
the  neighbors  say?  They  all  believe  that 
Harry  and  I  are  engaged ;  and  I  will  tell  you  a 
secret,  Nell.  I  think  they  are  likely  very  soon 
to  be  right." 

She  began  to  hum  the  fragment  of  a  tune,  as 
she  twirled  about  the  room  in  a  fantastic  dance. 

"Nonsense,  child,"  replied  her  sister,  sharply. 
"He  has  never  had  an  idea  of  such  a  thing." 

As  she  spoke  the  face  which  confronted  her  in 
the  mirror  looked  strangely  haggard;  and  the 
hand  trembled  which  adjusted  a  stray  lock  of 
hah*. 

"Will  you  not  give  us  your  blessing,  Nell?" 
asked  Bessie,  with  thoughtless  gaiety.  "In  one 
way  it  will  be  good  for  you,  poor  dear.  When 
I  am  married  to  Harry,  Sam  must  stop  teasing 
you  with  his  stupid  jealousy.  Sam  is  really  too 
short-sighted.  I  think  we  shall  surprise  him." 

Mrs.  Jennings  sank  into  a  chair  beside  her 
toilet  table. 

"Perhaps  it  is  you  who  are  short-sighted, 
Bess, "  she  replied.  "A  husband  can  see  things 
more  clearly  than  a  young  girl  like  you.  How 
blind  I  was  at  your  age !  Why  must  experience 
always  come  too  late?" 

"Old  people  always  say  things  like  that," 
35 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

remarked  Bessie.  "It  is  their  privilege,  I  sup- 
pose, a  sort  of  a  consolation  for  missing  things 
they  might  have  had.  Now,  I  am  determined 
to  have  my  good  things  as  I  go  along.  I  think 
it  is  people's  fault  if  they  miss  them." 

She  smiled  as  she  delivered  this  aphorism, 
heedless  of  the  pain  her  words  might  give. 

Meantime,  the  subject  of  this  conversation 
was  seated  in  a  room  on  the  ground  floor,  dedi- 
cated to, the  occupancy  of  the  Casa  Blanca 
Mining  Company,  whose  framed  prospectus 
occupied  "a  conspicuous  place  above  the  mantel- 
piece. Mr.  Wilson  sat  opposite  his  lawyer, 
leaning  upon  the  table  where  a  crayon  map  was 
outspread  between  them. 

"Here  is  the  line,"  he  said,  "where  I  claim 
that  the  Indian  reservation  encroaches  on  my 
land.  Because  it  includes  the  newly-discovered 
borax  mine  my  enemies  say,  of  course,  that  my 
claim  is  fraudulent.'!  The  truth  is,  these  lands 
have  been  very  loosely  surveyed.  The  Indians 
steal  all  they  can  get,  and  build  their  adobe 
huts,  hunt  and  fish  upon  my  land;  and  I  say 
nothing  until  something  like  this  occurs  to  give 
value  to  my  boundary  line.  Then  I  assert  my 
rights." 

"I  hope  it  is  so,  Mr.  Wilson,"  answered 
Burke.  "I  should  like  to  work  for  you  with  a 
36 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

full  conviction  of  the  justice  of  our  case.  I  do 
not  like  to  argue  on  the  wrong  side.  I  am 
never  so  sure  of  myself." 

"Well,  you  can  study  it  up.  You  will  find 
that  it  is  so,  and  I  depend  on  you  to  convince 
the  Court  of  it." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  took  down  a  decanter 
from  the  shelf,  and  filled  some  glasses  that  stood 
upon  a  tray,  adding,  "Here's  to  our  success." 
Burke  drank  the  toast  in  silence.  The  after- 
noon was  spent  over  books  and  papers.  At  the 
supper  table  Burke  took  his  place  as  an  expected 
guest,  greeted  with  smiles  by  the  ladies,  and 
with  an  indifferent  nod  by  Mr.  Jennings. 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  you  have  been  here, 
Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"Three  whole  days,"  said  Bessie,  laughing. 
"What  an  age!" 

"It  has  seemed  long  to  me,"  said  Burke. 
"Hilton  is  not  a  cheerful  place  of  residence. 
In  fact,  when  not  in  town  at  court,  I  live  on  the 
road  to  Casa  Blanca. ' ' 

"Why  not  at  Casa  Blanca?"  asked  Mr. 
Wilson. 

"Perhaps  some  day "  began  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, then  she  choked  the  end  of  her  sentence 
and  a  laugh  together  in  her  handkerchief. 

Bessie  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  her 
37 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

parents  with  alert  intelligence;  then  she  met 
Burke's  glance  frankly  but  with  heightened 
color.  He  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  a  peril- 
ous situation,  and,  though  he  was  sure  his  will 
had  no  share  in  creating  it,  he  realized  that  he 
had  not  perhaps  resisted  hitherto  the  current  of 
events.  Feeling  an  immediate  necessity  of 
doing  this,  he  gathered  himself  together  and 
remarked  with  an  effort:  "I  had  an  adventure 
to-day.  The  Governor  stage  was  held  up  on 
the  Johnson  grade,  the  driver  was  shot  dead, 
and  a  passenger  brought  the  stage  in  safety  as 
far  as  Hilton,  after  disabling  the  robber  and 
protecting  the  express  box.  My  adventure  was 
the  rescue  of  a  charming  girl,  who  took  refuge 
with  me  in  my  buggy  and  lunched  with  me  at 
the  hotel." 

"Who  was  she?"  asked  Mrs.  Jennings,  smil- 
ing at  the  sight  of  Bessie's  clouded  face. 

"She  is  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Aguilar  at  the  school, 
and  is  on  her  way  to  visit  her." 

"Then  she  will  be  our  neighbor,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Jennings.  "It  will  be  pleasant  for  you, 
Bess,  to  have  a  young  girl  of  your  own  age  so 
near  us.  I  hope  you  will  take  pains  to  culti- 
vate her  acquaintance." 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  said  Burke,  with  an  earnest 
look  at  Bessie,  quite  unconscious  of  the  hidden 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

meaning  in  her  sister's  words  which  caused  her 
to  color  in  vexation.  "I  am  sure  you  will  like 
her.  I  almost  promised  her  that  you  would  be 
friends.  She  is  very  interesting  and  attract- 
ive." 

If  her  sister  alone  had  spoken,  Bessie  would 
have  returned  a  ready  sarcasm.  The  situation 
between  the  two  was  strained  by  circumstances 
which  did  not  openly  appear  but  which  inter- 
fered with  any  natural  sympathy.  Mrs.  Jen- 
nings's  nerves  vibrated  like  an  ill-fcuned  harp  to 
Bessie's  thoughtless  jesting;  and  the  younger 
sister  made  no  allowance  for  the  deep-seated 
grief  which  caused  the  wayward  humor  that 
gave  her  continual  offence.  While  at  heart  each 
felt  the  strong  tie  of  blood  and  would  have 
resented  a  stranger's  misinterpretation,  this  did 
not  prevent  the  constant  jangling  of  warring 
interests. 

Burke's  presence  was  oil  upon  troubled 
waters.  With  an  instinct  of  deception  which  is 
at  best  a  self-deception,  Bessie  adorned  herself 
for  him  with  charm  of  manner  and  gentleness 
of  speech.  The  sudden  pang  of  jealousy  his 
words  caused  had  taken  her  by  surprise,  and  she 
had  no  reply  for  his  appeal. 

1  'I  suppose  it  will  be  right  for  Bessie  to  visit 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson.  "She  is  a  lady,  no 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

doubt,  though  poor  Mrs.  Aguilar  is  in  such 
humble  circumstances. ' ' 

4 ' She  is  a  lady, ' '  replied  Burke.  < < She  might 
be  a  princess." 

He  spoke  with  enthusiasm,  smiling  down 
Mrs.  Wilson's  petty  doubts.  She,  poor  woman, 
was  in  the  uncertain  position  of  the  newly  rich, 
forsaken  by  old  standards,  and  querulously 
doubtful  of  each  situation.  Burke's  opinion 
was  the  oracle  to  which  she  frequently  deferred, 
for  he  dominated  this  circle  with  the  superi- 
ority both  of  mind  and  heart.  Mr.  Jennings 
alone  held  himself  aloof  with  a  manner  of  de- 
clared hostility  which  Burke  as  constantly 
ignored,  despising  the  man  too  sincerely  to  pay 
him  the  compliment  of  attention. 

Mr.  Wilson  turned  the  current  of  the  conver- 
sation by  demanding  an  account  of  the  hold-up. 

4 'Who  brought  the  stage  in?"  he  inquired,  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  narrative,  to  which  all 
listened  with  interest. 

*'A  good-looking  young  Indian  who  was  a 
stranger  to  me,"  Burke  replied. 

4 'Perhaps  it  was  the  famous  Antonio 
Lachusa,"  remarked  Mr.  Jennings.  "We 
heard  of  his  coming  a  while  ago.  Some  of  the 
young  bucks  came  over  to  my  place  and  cele- 
brated by  indulging  in  copious  supplies  of  fire- 
40 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

water,  which  they  wanted  me  to  charge  to  his 
account.  'Not  much,'  I  said,  'I  must  see  some 
of  his  wonderful  wealth  before  I  credit  any- 
thing to  it. '  They  say  he  inherited  a  fortune 
from  the  white  woman  who  was  crazy  enough  to 
adopt  him." 

44 Why  does  he  come  back  now?"  asked  Mr. 
Wilson,  discontentedly.  "A  man  like  that  is 
sure  to  be  a  dangerous  spirit,  and  as  matters 
stand  at  the  rancheria  a  word  from  him  would 
be  like  adding  a  spark  to  tow.  I  wish  you 
would  go  down  this  evening,  Burke,  and  see 
how  things  are  going.  I  would  be  glad  if  you 
could  gain  some  influence  with  this  fellow  and 
persuade  him  to  leave  the  neighborhood,  at  any 
rate  until  our  suit  is  settled." 

44I  will  see  what  I  can  do,"  answered  Burke. 

4  *  Hark!"  said  Bessie.  "They  are  firing  a 
salute  as  they  do  when  the  priest  comes.  He 
must  be  an  important  personage,  and  is  he  really 
rich?  Who  ever  heard  of  a  rich  Indian?" 

Antonio  entered  the  rancheria  at  sunset.  He 
had  lingered  on  the  road,  climbing  here  and 
there  to  a  well-remembered  height  command- 
ing a  view  which  he  recalled  as  among  his 
earliest  impressions.  He  recognized  the  hillside 
where  he  had  met  the  mountain  lion ;  the  dis- 
41 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

tant  cliff  where  he  had  found  the  eagle's  nest ; 
the  hollow  where  the  humming-bird  nested  in 
the  manzanita  bush.  The  face  of  the  country 
had  been  somewhat  changed  by  the  clearing  of 
fields,  the  felling  of  trees,  and  the  building  of 
roads ;  but  in  nothing  did  he  recognize  so  great 
a  change  as  in  the  rancheria  itself.  It  looked 
so  small  and  shrunken,  the  adobe  houses  mere 
diminutive  huts,  the  valley  a  narrow  gorge, 
the  mountain  no  longer  the  imposing  mystery 
which  it  had  been.  He  had  to  assure  himself 
that  these  things  must  have  remained  unaltered. 
The  change  was  in  himself. 

He  could  not  return  unobserved,  as  would  have 
suited  his  mood,  for  the  whole  reserve  was  out 
of  doors  and  awaiting  him.  A  group  of  the  chief 
Indians,  the  old  Captain,  the  present  incumbent 
of  that  office,  the  judge,  and  a  number  of  the 
old  people  of  importance  in  the  tribe,  advanced 
in  procession  to  meet  him.  He  was  led  into  the 
tumble-down  adobe  building  which  served  as 
council  chamber,  where  addresses  of  welcome 
were  made  him ;  then  he  was  taken  to  visit  each 
of  the  houses  in  the  settlement,  where  he  was 
received  with  shy  smiles  and  awkward  hand- 
shakings which  hid  some  fluttering  heart-beats. 
To  the  marriageable  young  women  it  was  as 
if  a  fairy  prince  had  come  among  them.  He 
42 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

was  so  handsome,  so  well  dressed,  and  withal 
so  rich. 

To  Antonio  it  was  all  like  a  dream.  He 
recognized  only  by  name  these  people  who  were 
his  kith  and  kin.  A  few  of  the  old  men  and 
women  were  as  he  had  known  them,  only  more 
withered,  wrinkled  and  bent  beneath  the  in- 
creasing weight  of  years.  There  were  his 
uncles,  aunts  and  cousins,  his  godparents  and 
their  families,  all  of  whom  stood  in  a  relation 
of  close  intimacy  with  him,  and  yet  to  them  his 
heart  gave  no  warmer  response  than  to  the  rest. 
He  felt  that  instead  of  a  heart  he  had  a  lump  of 
ice  in  his  breast. 

"If  it  were  Marta  who,  happy  and  innocent, 
should  come  to  meet  me,  if  my  father  and  mother 
were  alive,  it  would  be  different,"  he  thought. 

No  one  noticed  any  lack  in  his  manner. 
Eeserve  and  self-control  are  habitual  with  these 
people  who,  with  their  well-bred  dignity,  are 
nature's  aristocrats.  Antonio's  smile  was  ready, 
and  his  words  gentle  and  friendly.  He  listened 
with  proper  respect  to  his  elders,  and  ate  of  the 
feast  spread  in  his  honor,  after  which  he  smoked 
a  solemn  cigarro  in  the  council  chamber.  It 
was  here  that  old  Jose  made  a  speech  in  which 
he  revealed  to  Antonio  the  state  of  affairs  at  the 
rancheria. 

43 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  spoke  in  the  language  of  the  tribe,  and 
Antonio's  heart  was  stirred  by  the  unforgotten 
accents,  which  had  a  power  possessed  by  no 
other  tongue,  however  enriched  by  learning  and 
cultivation.  This  was  the  language  which  he 
had  heard  from  his  mother's  lips.  It  aroused 
dim  recollections,  vague  associations,  undefin- 
able  emotions.  In  its  perfection  it  was  heard 
only  from  the  old  people.  The  young  were  shy 
of  its  use,  preferring  the  English  or  the  more 
universal  Spanish. 

Jose  concluded  his  speech  by  saying:  "It  is 
the  rich  who  are  plotting  against  us.  They 
covet  our  lands.  I  appeal  to  you,  Antonio,  to 
use  your  riches  to  secure  our  rights.  They  say 
the  American  courts  are  all  in  the  interest  of 
the  rich.  The  poor  man  has  no  chance  of 
justice.  Work  for  us,  Antonio.  Our  Lady  has 
sent  you  back  to  us  in  our  time  of  need.  How 
can  they  say  that  they  have  a  claim  upon  our 
lands?  They  have  been  ours  from  time  im- 
memorial. Look  at  yonder  mountain.  No 
man  knows  how  long  it  has  been  there ;  no  man 
knows  how  long  our  people  have  been  in  this 
place.  It  is  true  we  are  now  but  a  handful; 
and  little  by  little  we  have  been  pushed  aside 
from  the  wide  plains  where  our  cattle  used  to 
range,  from  the  fertile  valleys  where  now  the 
44 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

white  man  plants  his  corn,  to  this  barren  corner 
where  it  is  hard  work  to  live,  where  we  are  poor 
and  hungry.  If  there  is  wealth  in  rich  mines 
here  it  is  ours,  and  is  given  to  make  up  to  us  for 
the  unfriendly  soil.  Even  in  its  poverty  we 
love  this  spot,  for  here  is  our  burying  ground, 
and  the  dust  of  our  dead  is  here.  Now  they 
would  take  this  from  us  and  leave  us  nothing. 
Surely,  this  must  not  be.  We  beg  you  to  help 
us,  Antonio.  You  are  our  hope." 

Antonio  rose  and  bowed,  as  he  said:  "I 
thank  you,  elders  and  friends,  for  your  welcome 
of  me.  I  return  to  be  one  of  you.  If  I  had 
riches  they  should  be  at  your  command;  but 
this  is  all  the  wealth  I  bring,  two  hands  to 
work  for  you,  a  heart  and  brain  to  feel  and 
think  for  you.  The  beloved  friend  who  gave 
me  my  home  and  education  promised  that  I 
should  be  a  rich  man.  She  fully  meant  that 
this  should  be  so,  but  she  died  suddenly,  leav- 
ing me  without  a  penny.  It  is  the  will  of  God. 
But  if  you  rely  upon  me,  I  accept  your  trust. 
I  will  use  in  your  service  the  education  that  has 
been  given  me.  I  know  something  of  the  white 
man's  law,  and  will  appeal  to  it  for  your  pro- 
tection." 

Disappointment  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
the  assembly.  Antonio  Lachusa,  the  pride  of 
45 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

his  race,  was  an  ordinary  mortal,  a  poor,  uncon- 
sidered  Indian. 

Jose  spread  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
despair. 

"You  can  do  nothing  if  you  are  poor,"  he 
said.  "Have  we  not  wise  men  among  us,  older, 
more  experienced  than  you?  It  is  money  alone 
that  we  need — money;  that  is  the  only  thing 
that  can  give  power  in  this  world." 

"That  should  not  be  so,"  said  old  Pedro,  a 
man  of  ninety  years  and  more,  who  was  a  pious 
Christian,  fasting  on  Fridays  and  wearing  a 
rosary  next  his  heart.  "The  priest  will  tell  you 
something  different.  Does  he  not  say  that 
righteousness  is  power?" 

"That  may  have  been  so  in  the  old  day,  but 
not  now,"  answered  Jose.  "It  is  the  white 
men  who  upset  all  things.  They  are  rich,  and 
can  do  as  they  please.  At  the  store  they  sell  us 
our  groceries,  our  cloth  and  calico,  a  third 
higher  than  to  the  next  white  man  who  buys 
the  same  goods.  They  buy  our  corn  and  barley 
for  a  third  what  they  pay  to  the  white  man. 
Then  they  say  we  are  ungrateful  and  haggle 
over  prices.  They  call  us  thieves,  when  it  is 
they  who  are  the  thieves.  Would  they  submit 
if  we  took  the  gold  mine  which  is  dug  on  the 
next  hillside,  on  land  which  is  by  rights  fairly 
46 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

ours?  Yet  they  claim  the  borax  mine  on  our 
land,  and  blame  us  for  wishing  to  defend  it." 

The  meeting  broke  up  in  this  spirit  which 
was  general  among  them,  a  sense  of  wrong  and 
injustice  aroused  by  a  new  cause,  but  become 
habitual  through  the  experience  of  years. 

Antonio  drew  a  long  breath  when  he  found 
himself  at  last  alone  beneath  the  stars.  Ke- 
turned  to  this  land  of  crystalline  atmosphere,  he 
wondered  at  the  brilliancy  of  the  heavens.  All 
the  unfamiliar  stars  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  mag- 
nitudes, obscured  in  countries  of  humid  skies, 
came  out  here,  and  took  their  rightful  places, 
changing  the  outline  of  the  constellations.  The 
milky  way  shone  with  the  light  of  a  second 
moon.  Antonio  thought  of  Belmont,  and  its 
lovers,  and  its  starlit  sky.  His  heart  thrilled 
now  as  it  had  never  done  before  at  the  memory 
of  the  restrained  passion  of  Lorenzo's  speeches. 
He  realized  heights  and  depths  where  his 
thought  had  never  penetrated,  infinities  of 
feeling  which  were  as  remote  from  him  as  the 
infinities  of  distance  in  which  the  planets  move. 
Was  he  happier  because  he  could  apprehend 
what  had  been  hidden?  Was  he  more  fortu- 
nate than  his  fellows  to  whom  these  patines  of 
bright  gold  were  only  twinkling  lights,  since  he 
knew  the  laws  of  astronomy,  and  had  covered 
47 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

pages  with  the  calculations  of  the  higher  mathe- 
matics? "Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  to  himself. 
"I  suffer  more,  but  it  is  godlike  to  suffer  with 
open  eyes.  If  only  I  may  make  something  of 
my  life  so  that  it  shall  be  worth  while." 

He  walked  past  the  school-house,  through 
whose  open  windows  he  saw  Dorothea  and  her 
aunt  in  the  little  front  room,  where  the  light  of 
the  lamp  shone  full  on  the  girl's  head,  turning 
her  red-brown  hair  to  burnished  gold.  Her  eyes 
were  bright  with  animation  as  she  talked. 
Antonio  paused  involuntarily,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  her  as  he  had  often  stood  lost  in  con- 
templation before  a  picture  in  the  Dresden 
gallery.  A  footstep  startled  him,  and  turning 
quickly  he  found  Burke  at  his  side. 

"It  is  my  Indian  friend,"  said  Burke.  "Is 
your  name  Lachusa?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Antonio.      "And  yours?" 

"Oh,  I  am  Mr.  Burke." 

"I  have  heard  of  you,"  said  Antonio.  "You 
are  Mr.  Wilson's  lawyer." 

"They  have  already  told  you  about  me,"  said 
Burke,  smiling,  "and  nothing  good,  I  am  sure. 
But  a  lawsuit,  you  know,  is  not  a  matter  of 
sentiment.  I  must  do  my  duty.  They  tell  me, 
Lachusa,  that  you  are  remarkably  well  educated. 
Now  I  should  like  to  feel  that  I  might  depend 
48 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

upon  you  to  influence  the  others  of  the  tribe, 
who  are  as  ignorant  and  emotional  as  children, 
to  take  a  common-sense  view  of  this  matter. 
I  think  I  can  promise  that  Mr.  Wilson  would 
be  willing  to  settle  the  matter  out  of  court,  and 
even  to  pay  a  little  for  the  disputed  land, 
though  it  would  be  like  paying  for  his  own." 

"Of  what  use  would  be  the  money?"  asked 
Antonio.  "It  would  be  spent  soon,  half  of  it 
for  drink  which  is  furnished  illegally  to  my 
people  by  Mr.  Wilson's  son-in-law.  We  could 
not  buy  new  homes,  and  the  old  people,  the 
women  and  children  would  be  cast  adrift.  No, 
Mr.  Burke,  the  land  is  ours,  and  you  seek  to  rob 
us  of  it  under  the  name  of  the  law.  We  must 
fight  you  at  law  if  we  can,  though  we  are  poor 
and  ignorant,  and  you  are  rich  and  wise." 

They  had  walked  up  the  road  during  this 
conversation,  and  were  now  opposite  the  Casa 
Blanca  gardens,  where  the  white  house  gleamed 
fairy-like  through  the  trees,  and  the  sound  of  a 
piano  thunderously  executing  a  movement  of 
Die  Wallcilre  came  through  the  still  night  air. 

"But  you  are  an  exception,"  remarked 
Burke.  "You  are  both  rich  and  wise." 

"I  was  left  without  a  penny,"  answered  An- 
tonio. "The  will  which  I  once  saw  drafted  on 
paper  was  never  signed.  But  what  does  it 
49 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

matter?  It  is  possible  to  do  much  without 
money." 

1  'No,  there  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Burke. 
"  Poverty  is  a  crime  or  the  imputation  of  one. 
If  you  are  to  fight  me  at  law  the  first  thing  you 
must  do  is  to  look  about  for  means  to  raise  it. 
Mrs.  Aguilar,  of  course,  will  be  your  friend. 
She  thinks  she  has  found  the  means  through  an 
Indian  Association,  formed  of  certain  senti- 
mental people  in  the  East  who  love  the  poor 
Indian  and  are  interested  in  his  affairs.  I  tell 
you  this  because  she  herself  will  tell  it  to  you 
when  you  meet  her.  But  I  would  suggest  that 
you  do  not  depend  too  much  on  this  aid. 
Sentiment  is  a  fine  thing,  but  it  has  its  limita- 
tions, usually  at  the  point  where  it  attacks  the 
pocketbook." 

"Mrs.  Leigh  was  president  of  an  Indian 
Association,"  said  Antonio.  "I  have  some- 
times Spoken  at  their  meetings.  I  might  still 
have  some  influence.  Thank  you  for  the  idea. " 

"You  may  have  it  for  what  it  is  worth,"  said 
Burke.  "I  will  leave  you  here.  Think  over 
what  I  have  said.  After  to-morrow  I  will  begin 
the  suit.  It  will  then  be  too  late  for  a  compro- 


50 


CHAPTER   III 

When  Burke  returned  from  his  stroll  in  the 
starlight  he  found  Mrs.  Jennings  at  the  piano, 
while  her  husband  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room  was  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation 
with  his  sister-in-law. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Burke,"  called  Bessie,  as  he  entered 
and  approached  her,  "Sam  has  a  piece  of  news 
for  you.  Your  princess  is  not  a  princess,  after 
all.  We  have  decided  that  we  can  not  even  call 
upon  her." 

Burke  felt  his  heart  throb  with  an  undefin- 
able  anxiety,  not  from  the  manner  of  the  threat, 
but  because  something  told  him  that  he  was 
punished  for  mentioning  Dorothea's  name  in 
this  society.  As  he  had  seen  her  again  at  a 
glimpse  through  the  school-house  window,  she 
had  appeared  to  him  like  a  dainty  flower  trans- 
planted into  an  uncongenial  soil,  but  rearing 
itself  bravely  against  the  elements. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  inquired,  as  care- 
lessly as  he  might. 

"Why,  Ed  Fairfax  is  an  old  chum  of  mine," 
said  Mr.  Jennings.  "I  know  him  from 
A  to  Z.  Do  you  know  why  he  lives  in  South 
51 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

America?  It  is  because  he  prefers  the  climate 
to  that  of  Canada, ' '  and  he  gave  a  harsh  laugh 
which  Bessie  echoed  musically. 

"Go  on,  Sam,  explain,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Burke  looks  skeptical." 

"Well,  in  plain  English,  he  robbed  a  bank 
where  he  was  cashier,  after  repeatedly  forging 
his  father's  name  on  drafts,  and  was  saved  from 
the  penitentiary  only  by  the  indulgence  of  the 
old  man,  whom  he  drove  into  his  grave.  He  is  a 
blackleg  and  a  sharper,  a  professional  gambler, 
as  well  •  as  a  reckless  speculator  in  wild-cat 
schemes.  He  has  had  some  correspondence 
through  an  agent  with  my  respected  father-in- 
law  concerning  our  property  here,  the  Bonanza 
Mine.  We  may  make  a  deal  with  him  if  all 
goes  well.  Fairfax  does  not  know  that  I  mar- 
ried Wilson's  daughter,  or  even  that  I  am  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  and  I  donH  want  him  to 
know  it  just  yet  awhile." 

Mrs.  Jennings  had  ended  her  music  when 
Burke  appeared.  She  now  whirled  about  on 
the  piano-stool  and  exclaimed:  "For  reasons  of 
your  own,  no  doubt.  Mr.  Fairfax  knows  you, 
I  suppose,  as  well  as  you  know  him." 

"See  what  it  is  to  have  an  admiring  wife," 
said  Jennings — "one  so  full  of  love  and  confi- 
dence." 

52 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

4  *  Come,  come,"  said  Bessie.  "Don't  quarrel 
in  public.  It  is  not  good  taste.  Well,  Mr. 
Burke,  what  do  you  think  about  it?  Don't  you 
see  that  we  can  not  call  on  this  man's  daughter?" 

"In  that  you  will,  of  course,  do  as  you 
please,"  Burke  answered  gravely.  "She  is  a 
lady,  and  one  of  the  most  attractive  girls  I  have 
ever  met.  She  will  be  very  lonely  if  she 
makes  no  friends  here.  I  hope  you  will  not 
prejudice  others  against  her.  She  can  not  be 
held  responsible  for  her  father's  sins." 

"But  I  shall  think  it  my  duty  to  tell  my 
friends  what  I  know  of  her  family,"  said  Bessie, 
piously. 

"Oh,  her  family's  all  right  as  far  as  that 
goes,"  said  Jennings.  "Aguilar  was  always 
boasting  of  his  blue  blood.  He  was  her  uncle, 
you  know ;  and  the  Fairfaxes  are  very  respect- 
able. Ed  was  the  black  sheep.  I  have  nothing 
against  the  girl,  and  Nell  may  call  on  her  if  she 
likes,  if  she  will  promise  to  contrive  that  Miss 
Fairfax  does  not  mention  my  name  in  her  let- 
ters to  her  father.  This  is  very  important." 

"Why  should  I  call?"  replied  his  wife. 
"Mrs.  Aguilar  has  never  been  on  my  visiting 
list,  and  her  niece  is  more  nearly  Bessie's  age 
than  mine.  The  matter  absolutely  does  not 
concern  me." 

53 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Well,  then,  let  us  drop  the  subject,"  said 
her  sister. 

Burke  forced  himself  to  appear  at  ease  and 
interested  in  the  further  conversation  of  the 
evening;  but  his  blood  was  hot  within  him. 
Never  had  the  injustice  of  petty  standards  and 
narrow  judgments  seemed  to  him  so  inexcus- 
able. Never  had  the  sisters  appeared  in  so 
unamiable  a  light.  The  affluent  good-nature 
which  prevailed  at  Casa  Blanca  had  been  one  of 
the  advantages  which  had  counterbalanced  a 
certain  homely  vulgarity  in  the  minds  and 
manners  of  the  family  there.  They  were 
good-hearted  people,  he  told  himself,  enjoying 
their  newly  acquired  wealth  and  the  prestige  it 
gave  them  in  that  limited  society,  and  willing 
to  share  enjoyment  and  spread  good-will  about 
them.  Of  late  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  had 
changed,  or  was  it  that  he  himself  was  disen- 
chanted? The  family  skeleton  which  rumor 
had  long  assigned  to  a  place  in  the  Jennings 
apartments  had  come  somewhat  shamelessly 
into  view.  The  controversy  with  the  Indians 
had  served  to  embitter  Mr.  Wilson.  Bessie, 
who  had  always  commanded  Burke 's  admira- 
tion, had  become,  under  the  disturbing  influ- 
ence of  Dorothea's  entrance  into  her  social 
horizon,  both  unreasonable  and  unkind. 
54 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Mrs.  Jennings 's  keen  eyes  noted  Burke 'a 
altered  mood,  though  Bessie,  with  a  young 
girl's  happy  obliviousness  to  everything  beneath 
the  surface,  was  quite  unaware  that  her  liveliest 
sallies  were  no  longer  of  effect.  When  they 
met  on  the  landing  of  the  stairs  for  a  moment 
while  good-nights  were  being  exchanged,  Mrs. 
Jennings  bent  near  him  and  murmured:  "If  it 
will  please  you,  Harry,  I  will  call  on  Miss  Fair- 
fax. You  are  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy. 
You  have  been  sulking  all  the  evening  because 
we  will  not  admire  it  as  much  as  you  do.  Is 
she  really  charming  enough  to  make  you  forget 
Auld  Lang  Syne?" 

"The  toy  is  not  mine,"  he  replied;  "I  have 
no  claim." 

"Except  that  of  discoverer,"  she  answered. 
"You  have  found  out  that  she  is  a  lady,  and 
that  we  are  barbarians.  You  used  to  praise  the 
simplicity  of  our  life  here,  and  find  the  genial 
warmth  of  our  climate  reflected  in  our  natures. 
Ah,  the  good  old  times !  How  easy  it  is  for  a 
man  to  forget!" 

She  looked  down  upon  him,  the  light  of  the 
candle  which  she  held  falling  full  upon  her  face 
and  revealing  the  pathetic  droop  of  the  mouth, 
and  the  glint  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Burke,  distinctly  remembering  the  past,  knew 
55 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

that  she  exaggerated  the  importance  of  the 
admiration  which  he  had  given  and  the  terms 
upon  which  their  acquaintance  had  been 
founded.  Questioning  himself  seriously  in  the 
solitude  of  his  room,  he  could  not  feel  that  he 
had  been  to  blame,  that  he  had  trifled  with  her, 
or  that  at  any  time  he  had  given  more  than  the 
natural  share  of  homage  due  from  a  young  man 
to  a  pretty  girl  whom  he  meets  daily.  That 
one  day  he  had  awakened  to  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  being  urged  beyond  his  intentions 
by  the  pressure  of  circumstances,  that  he  had 
detached  himself  to  a  certain  extent  from  Casa 
Blanca  and  its  inmates,  and  that  Eleanor's 
marriage  to  Mr.  Jennings  had  been  viewed  by 
many  in  the  light  of  a  heart  tragedy,  with  him- 
self as  principal  actor,  he  knew,  having  often 
bitterly  reviewed  the  case  without  bringing  him- 
self to  judgment.  Since  then  Mrs.  Jennings 
had  chosen  to  maintain  an  attitude  which  often 
annoyed  him,  but  to  which  he  perforce  sub- 
mitted. She  made  it  appear  that  all  that  had 
been  suspected  and  implied  had  actually  ex- 
isted, that  he  had  loved  hopelessly,  and  that  an 
unkind  fate  had  divided  them.  It  was  to  avoid 
this  position  that  he  had  attached  himself 
openly  to  Bessie  during  his  frequent  visits  at 
Casa  Blanca,  making  her  the  object  of  his  atten- 
56 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

tions  at  the  risk  of  repeating  with  the  younger 
sister  the  .misunderstanding  of  his  motives. 
While  honest  examination  led  him  to  seek  his 
bed  that  night  with  a  clear  conscience,  Mrs. 
Jennings  lay  awake,  dry-eyed  but  heart- 
stricken,  while  Bessie  felt  the  anger  of  jealousy, 
than  which  nothing  is  more  cruel,  and  marked 
the  unconscious  Dorothea  as  its  victim. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  wondered  that  the  neighbors 
were  slow  in  calling  upon  her  niece,  and  she  was 
both  pleased  and  relieved  when  Mrs.  Jennings, 
in  summer  finery  and  plumed  hat,  tripped  down 
the  dusty  road  one  afternoon  and  knocked  at 
the  school-house  door.  She  seated  herself  in 
the  chair  offered  with  enthusiasm  by  Mrs. 
Aguilar,  and  surveyed  Dorothea  with  deliberate 
criticism.  She  recognized  that  she  was  not 
only  beautiful  enough  to  be  her  rival  in  Burke's 
fancy,  but  also  that  she  had  the  indefinable  air 
of  distinction  which  had  impressed  him. 

"You  seem  to  be  out  of  place  here,  Miss 
Fairfax,"  she  said.  "You  ought  not  to  live  in 
a  two-roomed  house,  and  your  hands  are  quite 
too  pretty  to  spoil  with  work." 

Before  Dorothea  had  appeared  she  had  been 
visible  in  the  rear  room  engaged  in  the  homely 
occupation  of  washing  dishes. 
57 


A  SOUL  in  BBONZE 

"You  are  quite  right,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Aguilar.  "Dolly  is  used  to  something  so 
different.  I  fear  she  will  not  stay  with  me 
long." 

Dorothea  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  this 
opening  of  the  conversation,  but  she  answered 
frankly:  "Of  course  one  misses  luxuries  that 
have  always  seemed  necessities ;  but  it  is  good 
for  us  to  learn  how  the  other  half  lives,  and 
everything  is  comparative.  Our  simplicity 
seems  luxury  to  these  Indians." 

U0h,  the  Indians  do  not  interest  me  at  all," 
said  Mrs.  Jennings.  "But  if  you  stay  in  this 
house  you  will  hear  of  nothing  else.  Mrs. 
Aguilar  thinks  them  perfection." 

"Hardly  that,"  said  the  teacher.  "But  I 
wish  to  help  them  in  the  weary  way  upward. 
They  have  taken  the  first  step  towards  better 
things.  The  next  should  be  easier  for  them." 

"Well,  do  not  let  us  talk  about  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Jennings,  "for  they  bore  me  to  death. 
Papa  is  in  a  rage  over  their  obstinacy  which  will 
make  it  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  court  in  town 
these  hot,  dusty  days.  Then  Mr.  Burke  is 
there  so  much  that  we  see  nothing  of  him. 
You  have  met  Mr.  Burke,  I  believe?"  and  she 
looked  keenly  at  Dorothea. 

"Yes,  I  drove  with  him  several  miles  at  the 
58 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

time  of  the  hold-up,  and  again  when  I  went  to 
attend  the  inquest.  He  was  very  kind  about 
making  that  as  easy  for  me  as  possible.  I  have 
not  seen  him  lately." 

"Nor  have  I  for  that  matter,"  was  the 
answer.  "We  are  such  old  friends  that  we 
really  think  it  strange  if  we  do  not  meet  six 
times  a  week." 

"I  hear  some  interesting  rumors  about  Miss 
Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Aguilar,  smiling.  "I  be- 
lieve she  will  not  remain  Miss  Bessie  very  long." 

Mrs.  Jennings  answered  coldly:  "People  will 
gossip  in  a  little  country  place.  It  is  the  only 
amusement  they  have.  But  Mr.  Burke  is 
decidedly  not  a  marrying  man." 

Dorothea  pondered  this  statement,  which 
seemed  somewhat  enigmatical.  Mrs.  Jennings 
struck  her  as  an  eccentric  person,  and  that 
lady,  feeling  instinctively  that  she  was  not  mak- 
ing as  favorable  an  impression  as  she  had  meant, 
began  to  talk  about  general  topics  in  a  friendly 
way.  At  last  she  said,  "One  thing  is  so  odd, 
Miss  Fairfax.  My  husband  used  to  know  your 
father  intimately  years  ago." 

Dorothea's  face  brightened  at  the  mention  of 
her  father. 

"But  the  strange  thing  about  it  is  that  Sam 
is  particularly  anxious  that  your  father  should 
59 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

not  hear  of  this  from  yon,  so  please  be  careful 
in  your  letters  not  to  mention  it,  or  even  to  let 
him  know  that  Samuel  K.  Jennings  lives  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  you.  I  don't  know  Sam's 
reason  for  this.  He  seems  to  have  some  grudge 
against  your  father,  in  a  business  way  no  doubt. 
Large  speculators  are  always  likely  to  make 
enemies  in  business,  you  know,  and  your  father 
is  a  sort  of  Napoleon  of  finance,  I  believe.  He 
is  negotiating  for  the  purchase  of  the  Bonanza 
Mine  here,  it  seems,  and  Sam  would  not  have 
him  know  for  the  world  that  he  is  connected 
with  it.  I  speak  of  this  as  something  that  may 
interest  you,  but  of  course  you  will  not  repeat 
it." 

Without  waiting  for  Dorothea's  reply  she  rose 
and  took  her  leave. 

"What  a  curious  woman  Mrs.  Jennings  is!" 
said  the  girl,  musingly. 

"She  is  a  very  unhappy  woman,  as  married  to 
such  as  man  she  must  be,"  replied  her  aunt. 
"She  married  out  of  spite,  and  a  woman  who 
will  do  that  must  expect  to  break  her  heart. 
She  was  engaged,  they  say,  to  Harry  Burke, 
and  he  broke  it  off,  or  they  quarreled,  and  she 
married  Sam  Jennings  within  a  month." 

"Could  Mr.  Burke  do  such  a  thing?"  asked 
Dorothea. 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"No,  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Aguilar. 
"If  it  were  so,  he  would  not  be  calling  con- 
stantly at  the  house,  and  be  paying  his  ad- 
dresses, as  they  say,  to  her  sister." 

"Perhaps  it  is  Mrs.  Jennings  whom  he  cares 
for  still,"  thought  Dorothea,  but  she  said 
nothing,  and  within  an  hour  was  engaged  in 
writing  as  follows  to  her  father : 

"I  miss  you  constantly.  The  life  here  is  so 
different  from  anything  I  have  known.  I  am 
set  down  in  a  little  valley  among  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  horizon  of  my  experience  is  as 
limited  as  possible,  yet  even  here  dramas  of 
destiny,  are  being  played,  interesting  enough  to 
those  concerned  in  them,  though  I  am  quite  an 
outsider  and  can  do  nothing  but  look  on  and 
philosophize.  The  villain  of  the  play  is  a  Mr. 
Samuel  K.  Jennings,  whose  morals  are  deplor- 
ably bad,  though  this  does  not  seem  to  place 
him  beyond  the  pale  of  society,  since  he  is  the 
son-in-law  of  Mr.  Jerome  Wilson,  the  rich  man 
of  the  place.  He  keeps  a  store  and  sells  liquor 
to  the  Indians,  which  does  not  seem  to  be 
thought  wicked,  though  it  is  against  the  law. 
I  have  heard  that  he  used  to  know  you  years 
ago,  and  that  he  is  very  anxious  to  remain  un- 
known to  you.  He  is  interested  in  your  specu- 
lations, especially  in  the  sale  of  the  Bonanza 
61 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Mine  here.  And  now,  darling  papa,  I  have 
found  you  out.  If  you  are  planning  to  buy  the 
mine,  it  is  to  come  here  and  live  with  your  own 
Dorothea.  How  happy  I  am  at  the  thought  of 
it !  I  can  hardly  wait  to  receive  the  answer  to 
this  letter.  How  could  you  expect  to  keep  a 
secret  from  your  inquisitive  little  magpie?  Do 
not  try  to  have  secrets  from  me.  I  shall  find 
them  out,  every  one." 

Cause  and  effect  are  proportionate,  but  the 
law  of  accumulated  force  is  so  obscure  in  its 
application  that  we  sometimes  wonder  when  the 
fall  of  the  pebble  starts  the  avalanche.  Mrs. 
Jennings 's  communication  was  a  pebble  thrown 
at  random,  with  no  motive  except  the  desire  of 
avenging  a  hundred  petty  slights,  a  hundred 
stabs  of  malice,  dealt  where  hatred  filled  the 
place  of  love.  Custom  and  conventionality  held 
her  in  check,  and  she  could  only  act  against  her 
husband  in  secret,  striking  blindly  like  an  angry 
child;  and  walking  homewards  she  felt  a  child's 
trepidation  in  the  memory  of  her  act  of  rebel- 
lion. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Dorothea  had  entered  with  enthusiasm  upon 
her  aunt's  work  of  philanthropy.  She  found 
much  to  interest  her  in  the  Indian  character, 
whose  stolid  reserve  did  not  preclude  a  quick 
responsiveness  to  kindly  influences.  She  be- 
lieved that  an  impersonal  sympathy  for  the  un- 
fortunate prompted  her  to  throw  herself  with 
eagerness  into  her  new  duties;  but  if  she  had 
known  her  heart  she  would  have  recognized  the 
concrete  motive  which  is  not  far  to  seek  in  a 
woman's  deed. 

A  climbing  vine  will  set  a  tendril  swinging  in 
circles,  vague  of  purpose  until  it  strikes  the 
object  of  its  unconscious  search,  when  straight- 
way it  will  coil  into  a  quick  activity.  A 
young  girl's  heart  possesses  such  a  swinging 
tendril ;  and  without  realizing  it,  Dorothea  had 
made  Burke  the  object  of  its  direction.  Slight 
associations  connected  her  thought  with  him. 
The  memory  of  his  looks  and  words  lay  deep 
within  her  mind.  An  accident  of  revelation 
might  have  tightened  the  bond ;  but  before  she 
was  aware  of  it,  this  vague  tie  had  been  rudely 
63 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

broken.  Mrs.  Jennings  had  hinted  at  a 
romance  to  which  the  girl's  quick  imagination 
readily  supplied  outline  and  color.  She  had 
learned  by  this  accident  the  secret  of  Burke 's 
unhappy  attachment ;  and,  although  she  pitied 
him,  it  lessened  him  in  her  estimation.  He  no 
longer  perfectly  deserved  her  instinctive  sym- 
pathy. 

It  was  possible,  she  considered,  for  a  man 
to  love  for  a  lifetime  a  woman  who  by  some  un- 
happy fate  had  become  another's  wife;  but 
such  a  love  ought,  then,  to  be  a  chrism  consecrat- 
ing him  to  eminent  nobility.  He  should  never 
lightly  touch  another  woman's  hand,  never 
smile  admiringly  into  another's  eyes.  His  love 
to  be  worthy  must  be  kept  sacred.  If  false  to 
it,  he  was  false  to  everything.  Such  reasoning 
might  have  its  flaws,  but  it  was  conclusive  to 
Dorothea,  to  whom  it  brought  sharp  pin-pricks 
of  discontent  when  she  remembered  Burke 's 
brown  eyes  and  the  light  that  shone  within 
them.  Turning  for  distraction  from  these 
thoughts,  she  found  it  in  the  work  which  lay  at 
hand,  the  stern  reality  of  grief  making  her  own 
cares  seem  the  merest  vapors  of  an  idle  thought. 

She  forgot  Burke  when  she  fed  the  hungry 
and  tended  the  sick  and  dying.  She  found 
interest  in  watching  the  development  of  the 
64 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

little  dark-skinned  scholars,  and  in  conversing 
with  Antonio  Lachusa,  the  depths  of  whose 
mind  she  could  not  sound  with  any  plummet  of 
her  own  possessing,  but  whose  reverential 
attention,  as  he  followed  her  slightest  words,  and 
the  enthusiasm  of  his  appreciation,  were  sweet 
to  her. 

One  morning  she  descended  the  hill  while  the 
fog  still  hung  like  a  silver  mantle  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  mountain,  and  the  quail  were 
calling  upon  the  hillside,  where  they  had  nested 
and  taught  their  young  to  fly. 

She  entered  the  door  of  the  dark  adobe  hut  in 
which  she  was  now  a  frequent  visitor ;  and  she 
found,  as  always  of  late,  both  Antonio  and  his 
sister  bent  above  a  bed  of  blankets  where  the 
small  Fernando,  Marta's  child,  lay  gasping  his 
life  away.  Antonio  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  met 
her  with  a  bow  and  a  sudden  brightening  of  his 
dark  eyes;  while  Marta  raised  her  head  and 
nodded  solemnly. 

4 'The  doctor  was  here  again  last  evening. 
What  did  he  say?"  asked  Dorothea. 

"That  it  is  only  a  question  of  a  day  or  two," 
replied  Antonio.  " Nothing  more  can  be  done. 
We  have  watched  through  the  night  together, 
for  though  I  begged  Marta  to  sleep  she  would 
not  shut  her  eyes.  To-day  I  must  go  down  to 
65 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Hilton,  but  Felipe's  wife  will  come  in  to-night. 
Marta  must  have  rest,  or  she  will  be  ill." 

"I  will  stay  with  her  to-night,"  said  Doro- 
thea. 

Antonio's  face  glowed,  and  Marta,  bending 
her  head,  began  to  weep  silently. 

"It  is  what  she  has  been  wishing  for,"  said 
Antonio — "that  you  should  be  with  the  child 
when  he  dies.  Not  even  Mrs.  Aguilar  is  such 
a  comfort  to  her.  She  says  that  when  little 
Fernando  was  well  he  would  always  laugh  when 
you  spoke  to  him.  She  thinks  he  can  know 
you  even  now ;  and  she  will  not  allow  the  Indian 
women,  our  neighbors,  so  much  as  to  look  at 
him.  They  are  all  angry  with  her  about  it. 
She  says  their  wails  frighten  the  child,  and  she 
will  not  adopt  the  remedies  they  suggest,  since 
she  has  more  faith  in  the  doctor  you  have  sent 
to  attend  him.  What  grieves  her  most  is  that 
Fernando  has  not  been  baptized.  The  priest 
comes  here  only  once  a  year,  sometimes  not 
even  that.  He  has  not  been  here  since  the 
child  was  born;  and  though  Mrs.  Aguilar  tells 
her  that  she  herself  or  good  old  Pedro  may 
baptize  him  in  case  of  necessity,  Marta  fears 
that  the  child  cannot  be  happy  in  eternity 
unless  the  Church  receives  him  in  baptism.  I 
am  going  to  Hilton  to  telegraph  to  the  priest  to 
66 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

come;  but  if  he  does  not,  you  will  comfort  her, 
will  you  not?" 

He  looked  lovingly  at  his  sister  as  he  spoke, 
and  she  followed  him  with  eyes  of  devotion 
while  he  said  his  farewells  and  left  the  hut. 

The  grandmother  came  in  soon  after,  and 
bent  to  scrutinize  the  child. 

"  Stand  aside,  Nana,"  said  Marta,  queru- 
lously. "Your  shadow  falls  upon  him.  The 
doctor  says  he  must  have  sunlight  and  air." 

"But  he  can  have  neither  here,"  said  Doro- 
thea, who  understood  the  Spanish  that  Marta 
used,  and  answered  her  in  it,  while  with  An- 
tonio she  had  spoken  in  English.  "Shall  we 
not  carry  him  out  into  the  air?  It  is  so  fresh 
and  fragrant  now." 

"No,"  said  Marta;  "I  will  not  leave  the 
house.  Here,  when  people  come,  I  can  shut 
my  door  upon  them.  Outside  they  would 
crowd  about,  and  each  would  have  some  reason 
with  which  to  explain  his  illness  or  some 
remedy  for  me  to  try.  Old  Diego  is  medicine- 
man, but  he  is  so  old  that  he  has  nearly  lost  his 
mind,  and  I  have  no  faith  in  him.  He  wishes 
me  to  bind  an  amulet  of  eagle  feathers  tied  to  a 
stick  upon  him,  and  to  grease  him  with  the 
sacred  rattlesnake  oil.  I  would  gladly  do  this 
if  I  dared  to  disobey  the  priest,  who  told  me 
67 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

once  that  these  amulets  were  the  same  as  idols, 
and  that  we  did  wrong  to  put  faith  in  the 
medicine-men;  but  if  Fernando  dies  all  my 
people  will  tell  me  it  is  because  I  denied  Diego; 
yet  I  would  not  dare  to  displease  the  priest,  at 
least  until  the  child  is  baptized.  After  that  he 
would  be  safe." 

The  torture  of  Marta's  mind,  hesitating 
between  two  opposing  beliefs,  struck  Dorothea 
as  pathetic  in  the  extreme ;  but  she  could  not 
suggest  any  other  consolation  than  the  hope 
that  the  priest  would  come  in  time. 

She  left,  repeating  her  promise  to  return, 
since  Marta  persistently  refused  the  ministra- 
tions of  her  neighbors. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  did  not  oppose  her  niece's 
benevolent  purpose,  and  when  the  full  moon 
rose  Dorothea  took  her  way  by  a  little  winding 
path  which  made  a  short-cut  behind  the  garden 
of  Casa  Blanca  to  the  isolated  corner  where 
Marta's  hut  stood  in  its  tiny  corn  patch.  As 
she  came  from  the  shadow  into  the  brilliant 
light,  Burke,  who  had  been  standing  at  an 
angle  of  the  path,  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  you,"  he  said, 

offering  his  hand  with  a  radiant  smile.     "Your 

aunt  quarreled  with  me  about  the  lawsuit,  and 

almost  forbade  me  her  house.     I  should  have 

68 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

risked  her  anger,  and  have  called  upon  you, 
however,  if  I  had  been  here ;  but  I  have  been  at 
court  in  town,  and  this  is  my  first  visit  to  Casa 
Blanca  in  two  weeks." 

"Your  friends  must  have  missed  you  greatly," 
said  Dorothea. 

"But  you,  you  have  not  cared  at  all.  Of 
course  not,  since  I  am  only  a  new  acquaintance 
to  you ;  yet  I  cannot  explain  to  you  what  you 
have  become  to  me  in  the  comparatively  short 
time  that  I  have  known  you.  Lately  I  have 
thought  of  you  constantly,  and  have  felt  a  cer- 
tain anxiety  about  you,  as  if  you  were  in  a  posi- 
tion where  you  needed  my  help— why  I  can 
hardly  tell.  But  I  fear  that  you  do  not  find 
the  society  at  Casa  Blanca  exactly  congenial  to 
you." 

"Society,  if  that  means  the  Wilsons  and 
their  circle,  has  left  me  for  the  most  part  alone. 
I  have  exchanged  a  few  formal  calls." 

"I  feel  half -responsible  for  your  disappoint- 
ment in  us,"  said  Burke,  "for  I  told  you  that 
we  were  genial,  warm-hearted  people  who 
could  be  counted  upon  to  be  good  neighbors; 
and,  as  a  rule,  it  is  so  in  California  much  more 
than  elsewhere.  The  perpetual  sunshine  warms 
our  souls.  But  this  unfortunate  lawsuit  has  set 
people  by  the  ears.  The  Wilsons  are  angry  at 
69 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

your  aunt  for  her  enthusiastic  championship  of 
the  Indians,  and  they  include  you  in  that,  I 
suppose." 

"Their  opinion  is  not  of  the  slightest  conse- 
quence to  me,"  she  replied.  "As  individual 
characters,  I  consider  Marta  Lachusa  and  her 
brother  vastly  superior  to  the  Wilsons." 

"And  you  are  going  to  watch  to-night  with 
Marta 's  child, "said  Burke,  gently.  "Leonore, 
who  cooks  at  the  Wilsons,  told  me  that,  and  I 
lay  in  wait  for  you.  I  honor  you  for  your 
warmth  of  heart,  though  I  wish  it  did  not  carry 
you  so  far.  You  should  not  roam  about  at 
night  alone." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  quite  safe,"  she  answered. 
"The  Indians  are  peaceable  and  harmless. 
They  all  know  and  like  me." 

"They  are  always  harmless  unless  they  are 
drunk,"  said  Burke.  "That  entirely  trans- 
forms their  character." 

"And  it  is  Mr.  Jennings  who  sells  them  the 
liquor.  Oh,  Mr.  Burke,  I  have  seen  so  many 
unfortunate  results  of  it.  Instead  of  bringing 
a  lawsuit  to  drive  the  Indians  from  their  homes, 
you  should  be  engaged  in  prosecuting  that 
man." 

"I  wish  it  could   be   done,"   he  answered. 
"He  is  my  particular  bete  noire." 
70 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Dorothea  suddenly  remembered  her  suspicion 
concerning  Burke's  unf  or  gotten  attachment  for 
Mr.  Wilson's  elder  daughter. 

"How  beautiful  the  moonlight  is!"  Burke 
remarked.  "Why  is  it  that  the  moon  seems 
made  to  shine  for  youthful  lovers?  I  am  no 
longer  young,  but  still " 

"Was  that  a  snake?"  cried  Dorothea,  as  a 
black  shadow  glided  sinuously  across  the  path. 

"No  doubt;  a  harmless  gopher  snake,  most 
likely.  Are  you  afraid  of  them?" 

"Not  as  a  rule,"  she  replied,  "but  for  some 
reason  the  sight  of  it  made  my  blood  run 
cold." 

"The  half-light  makes  you  'nervous,"  he  re- 
marked. "As  I  was  saying,  I  had  almost 
believed  that  I  had  grown  too  old  to  love.  In 
youth,  it  comes  to  us  as  a  vague  and  beautiful 
dream,  which  touches  the  imagination  more 
deeply  than  it  does  the  heart.  But  when  in 
middle  life  it  comes  upon  a  man  like  a  sudden 
revelation,  it  is  an  imperious  passion  for  which 
he  would  risk  the  world.  Do  you  know,  Doro- 
thea, there  are  plants  that  send  up  stalk,  bud 
and  blossom  in  a  single  night?  Do  you  believe 
that  there  are  cases  of  love  at  first  sight?" 

Her  heart  beat  fast  with  surprised  agitation. 
Suspecting  that  these  were  the  words  of  a 
71 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

trifler,  she  did  not  care  to  magnify  their  impor- 
tance by  a  reply.  Fear  as  well  as  prudence  led 
her  to  ignore  them. 

Burke  was  content  to  leave  his  thought  half 
spoken,  for  he  realized  that  he  might  offend 
her  by  too  great  precipitancy ;  though  his  pres- 
ent purpose  was  the  logical  outcome  of  the 
serious  reflection  of  days  and  weeks.  Since  he 
had  first  met  her,  Dorothea  had  been  the  object 
of  his  constant  thought.  The  slight  anxiety 
which  he  felt  concerning  her  happiness  had 
served  to  fix  his  mind  continually  upon  her. 
The  freshness  of  her  youthful  beauty  appealed 
to  him  with  that  suddenness  of  charm  which  is 
caused  by  a  flower,  a  sunset,  a  burst  of  melody. 
She  suggested  all  beauty,  and  was  a  part  of  it. 
Life  seemed  a  monotonous  desert  as  it  stretched 
behind  him;  the  future  a  dreary  waste  if  it 
must  be  passed  without  her.  He  was  amazed 
at  the  strength  of  this  new  passion  which  filled 
his  heart.  Through  its  very  unexpectedness  it 
became  an  exquisite  joy.  His  fancy  lingered 
upon  it,  sipping  the  intoxication  drop  by  drop. 
He  was  not  too  young  to  be  self-conscious,  and 
he  realized  the  promise  of  every  moment  that 
should  unfold  his  hopes.  He  saw  no  reason  for 
fear  or  self -distrust ;  no  impediment  in  his  path 
except  the  shy  instinct  of  a  girl's  reserve,  which 
72 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

it  would  be  the  sweetest  task  for  manly  love  to 
vanquish  step  by  step. 

The  dreary  routine  of  his  daily  work  was 
glorified  by  blissful  dreams.  He  wrote  German 
poetry  upon  the  margins  of  his  briefs. 

Thou  little  youthful  maiden, 

Come  into  my  great  heart ; 
For  my  heart  and  the  sea  and  the  heaven 

Are  melting  away  with  love. 

When  at  last  he  met  her  in  the  moonlight  he 
had  to  remind  himself  that  her  ignorance  of  his 
heart  laid  a  careful  restraint  upon  him.  "Per- 
haps I  have  spoken  too  hastily,"  he  thought. 
"I  will  be  patient.  That  'little  youthful 
maiden'  shall  have  her  own  sweet  way  with 
me;"  and  he  walked  homeward  through  the 
summer  night  as  if  he  trod  on  air. 

Dorothea,  entering  the  hut,  found  Marta 
huddled  upon  the  floor  in  the  chiaroscuro  of  the 
candle  beam  invaded  by  the  shadow  of  the  nar- 
row room.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  terrible 
stare  which  the  sight  of  her  visitor  did  not 
relieve. 

"What  is  it,  Marta?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  sure  the  padre  will  not  come, "  was  the 
answer,  in  the  very  accent  of  despair,  "and  then 
73 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

my  child,  my  innocent  child,  must  suffer  in  fire 
forever/' 

1  'Oh,  no,  Marta;  it  is  not  true.  The  priest 
could  not  tell  you  that.  You  did  not  under- 
stand him.  The  dear  Lord  loves  little  children. 
He  held  them  in  His  arms.  He  never  could 
condemn  an  innocent  thing.  If  He  takes  your 
child  it  will  be  safe  with  Him." 

The  earnestness  of  Dorothea's  tone,  the 
warmth  of  sympathy  which  her  look  expressed, 
soothed  the  mother's  heart.  Her  mind  was 
unconvinced,  but  with  a  childish  acceptance  of 
a  present  comfort,  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
diverted  from  her  fears. 

Dorothea  sat  upon  the  floor  and  held  the  little 
Fernando  in  her  arms.  He  opened  his  dull  eyes 
and  smiled  into  her  face. 

"There,  there,"  said  Marta,  beginning  to 
weep  with  joy,  "it  is  the  first  sign  of  life  he  has 
given  all  day.  It  is  a  good  omen ;  he  will  get 
well." 

Dorothea  remained  still  and  rigid,  hardly  dar- 
ing to  breathe  for  fear  of  disturbing  the  soft 
slumber  into  which  he  now  sank.  Marta 
stretched  her  weary  limbs  beside  her,  and,  worn 
by  long  watching,  herself  fell  asleep. 

The  hours  dragged  slowly.  The  moonlight 
waned  and  gave  place  to  the  first  flush  of  dawn, 
74 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

and  as  the  candle  flared  and  sputtered  in  its 
socket  Dorothea  noticed  a  change  in  the  child's 
face.  She  had  never  seen  death,  but  she 
recognized  its  presence ;  and  she  woke  Marta, 
who  started  at  a  word. 

"Call  Angela,"  she  said  quietly.  "He  will 
not  live  till  the  priest  comes." 

Marta  ran  distracted  into  the  open  air.  In 
the  moment  of  anguish  she  begged  help  of  all 
she  met.  Old  Diego  was  awakened  and  en- 
treated to  bring  the  amulet  and  the  oil.  Marta 
grovelled  before  her  offended  neighbors  and 
begged  them  to  come  and  wail  with  her  that  the 
evil  spirits  might  be  frightened  away  and  her 
child's  departing  soul  escape  them.  She  asked 
the  prayers  of  the  pious  Pedro,  and  that  he 
should  bring  his  rosary  and  the  blessed  candles 
left  over  from  the  Easter  Services. 

Urged  by  her  entreaties  for  haste,  the  neigh- 
bors crowded  into  the  narrow  hut,  and  there 
they  found  Dorothea  seated  with  an  uplifted 
face  of  solemn  thought,  and  the  dead  child 
stretched  upon  her  knees. 

"His  breath  went  in  a  little  sigh,  Marta," 
she  said,  "but  do  not  be  frightened.  I  bap- 
tized him  with  the  water  from  the  olla  just  as  I 
saw  it  was  the  last  moment;  and  I  prayed  to 
the  dear  Lord  to  receive  him.  He  is  as  safe  as 
75 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

if  the  priest  had  used  the  holy  water  and  oil 
and  salt,  and  said  every  prayer.  Trust  what  I 
say." 

Later  in  the  day  Dorothea  took  a  long  walk 
over  the  hills.  She  could  not  rest  within  doors. 
The  look  in  Marta's  eyes  haunted  her.  She 
wanted  time  to  think ;  to  let  her  little  plummet 
into  the  depths  of  that  unknown  sea  on  whose 
borders  we  all  stand  wondering. 

She  sat  down  on  the  dry  grass  beneath  an  oak 
tree,  whose  fallen  leaves  made  a  carpet  beneath 
the  spreading  boughs  without  diminishing  the 
living  verdure  of  its  crown  of  green.  She 
leaned  against  a  rock  and  looked  up  at  the  sky, 
where,  at  a  great  height,  motionless  cirrhus 
clouds  had  taken  the  shape  of  tall  white  lilies 
standing  rank  on  rank,  the  asphodels  of 
heaven.  Watching  them,  her  eyes  grew  heavy. 
By  degrees  her  head  sank  lower,  and  in  the 
stillness  of  the  encompassing  solitude  she  fell 
asleep. 

Antonio  had  returned  from  a  fruitless  errand. 
The  priest  could  not  leave  his  work  in  the  city 
to  make  a  visitation  upon  this  outlying  quarter 
of  his  parish  at  an  unaccustomed  season  simply 
because  a  young  Indian  child  was  dying.  An- 
76 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

tonio  would  have  been  surprised  if  he  had  pros- 
pered in  his  quest.  He  had  gone  with  the 
sole  intention  of  pleasing  his  sister,  who  had 
become  deeply  endeared  to  him  by  their  com- 
mon care  of  Fernando,  who  had  wound  himself 
about  his  uncle's  heart.  By  one  of  those  com- 
pensations which  underlie  the  evils  of  fate,  this 
child  had  been  for  a  short  time  the  sunlight  of 
two  lives. 

When  Antonio  reached  the  rancheria  and 
heard  that  Fernando  was  dead  he  had  no  cour- 
age to  meet  his  sister,  so  he  took  his  rifle  and 
made  his  way  up  the  hillside,  following  an 
unfrequented  path ;  and  thus  came  suddenly  in 
sight  of  Dorothea  asleep  beneath  the  oak. 

At  the  moment  he  stopped  electrified  by 
terror,  while  the  blood  froze  in  his  veins.  Upon 
the  flat  rock  close  to  her  head  a  rattlesnake  had 
slid  to  sun  itself,  and  disturbed  in  its  siesta  by 
some  instinctively  uneasy  movement  of  the 
sleeper,  it  had  coiled  itself,  and  with  uplifted 
head  and  sounding  rattle  was  preparing  to  strike 
at  its  unconscious  victim. 

Antonio  raised  his  rifle.  "Pray  God  she  does 
not  waken, "  he  thought,  as  he  took  aim  and 
fired. 

The  report  roused  Dorothea,  while  a  detached 
splinter  of  rock  slightly  wounded  her  forehead. 
77 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

The  rattlesnake  had  fallen  headless  upon  the 
ground.  Antonio,  rifle  in  hand,  rushed  for- 
ward at  her  scream. 

"You  have  shot  me,"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
could  you  fire  so  near  me?  How  wickedly  care- 
less you  have  been!"  and  half -sobbing  with 
fright  she  wiped  a  few  drops  of  blood  from  her 
forehead. 

Antonio  bent  over  her  to  assure  himself  of  the 
trivial  nature  of  the  wound ;  then  he  picked  up 
the  rattlesnake  and  pointed  to  its  shattered 
neck. 

"It  lay  there  on  the  rock,"  he  said,  "ten 
inches  from  your  face.  It  was  about  to  strike, 
and  I  shot  its  head  off." 

Dorothea  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  in  the  sud- 
den reaction  from  her  terror,  extended  her 
hands  in  gratitude. 

"You  shot  it,  Antonio,  and  saved  my  life! 
How  can  I  thank  you?  How  brave,  how  good, 
how  clever  you  are!  No  one  else  could  have 
done  it." 

She  trembled  with  nervous  excitement,  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  mangled  snake  as 
if  it  still  possessed  the  fascination  of  active 
malignity.  She  did  not  notice  that  Antonio, 
from  excess  of  humility,  had  refused  to  accept 
her  offered  hands. 

78 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"It  was  hard,"  he  replied,  "but  I  knew  I 
could  not,  must  not,  fail.  Too  much  was  at 
stake." 

"I  can  never,  never  thank  you,"  she  repeated. 

"It  is  a  joy  to  me;  I  need  no  thanks,"  he 
answered.  "It  gives  me  a  reason  to  be  glad 
that  I  have  lived." 


79 


CHAPTER    V 

Antonio  was  working  in  an  uplying  field 
which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  moun- 
tains lying  naked  and  scarred  beneath  the 
dazzling  sun.  There  was  no  glamour  in  the 
morning  light.  The  chaparral  was  withered 
and  dusty;  the  flowers  had  faded  from  the 
mesas;  but  his  heart  was  glad  as  he  worked. 
This  was  the  nature  which  he  loved.  These 
rocky  heights  were  more  beautiful  than  wooded 
hills.  The  barren  mesas  were  more  satisfying 
to  his  eyes  than  a  velvet  lawn.  In  such  a  scene 
the  imagination  is  stirred  by  possibilities  with- 
held, as  a  woman  charms  most  who  piques  by 
her  denials. 

Antonio  was  grubbing  greasewood  roots  from 
stubborn  ground.  Two  antiquated  oxen  assisted 
in  his  work.  The  sweat  started  upon  his  fore- 
head, and  the  animals  panted  at  the  task ;  but 
Antonio  had  no  mind  to  complain  of  its  diffi- 
culties. At  a  dollar  a  day  he  felt  well  paid,  and 
his  fancies  sang  like  birds  within  him. 

Supplementing  every  source  of  joy  was  the 
consciousness  that  he  loved.  It  was  a  hopeless 
.  81 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

the  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star";  but 
happy  in  the  very  quality  which  raised  it  above 
the  doubts  and  fears  of  passion  and  rendered 
it  invulnerable  to  rebuff.  Antonio  knew  no 
wish  as  yet  except  that  he  might  serve  Dorothea, 
and  the  joy  that  set  his  pulses  bounding  was  the 
consciousness  that  he  had  saved  her  life. 

She  could  never  forget  him.  Every  happi- 
ness which  the  years  might  bring  her  was  a  gift 
from  his  hand. 

When  the  sun  marked  high  noon  he  unyoked 
his  oxen  and  led  them  to  rest  in  the  shelter  of 
a  solitary  oak.  He  threw  some  barley-hay  upon 
the  ground  for  them,  and  sat  down  to  lunch  on 
half  a  loaf  of  bread,  with  water  from  his  can- 
teen, and  thus  refreshed  began  to  meditate  upon 
the  problems  of  his  life. 

He  knew  that  he  owed  it  to  himself  not  to 
degenerate  into  a  mere  grubber  of  roots.  Cin- 
cinnatus  at  the  plough  was  Cincinnatus  pre- 
pared to  lead  men.  Antonio  was  ambitious  for 
himself  and  for  his  race.  Since  his  return  he 
had  studied  conditions  at  the  reservation,  and 
had  decided  that  his  people  needed  a  leader. 
They  were  Israelites  waiting  for  their  Moses. 
Poverty  was  their  tyrant. 

He  was  not  sure  that  they  were  prepared  to 
accept  him  as  their  head,  for  with  the  loss  of 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

his  fortune  he  had  lost  prestige  among  them, 
suffering  that  imputation  which  always  attaches 
an  added  stigma  to  failure.  The  elders,  more- 
over, suspected  in  him  a  lack  of  sympathy  with 
the  traditions  of  the  past. 

With  the  younger  men  he  had  some  influence, 
for  they  regarded  him  with  deference  as  one  who 
had  acquired  a  measure  of  that  right  for  which 
all  instinctively  yearned,  the  right  to  think,  and 
be,  and  act  on  a  level  with  the  white  man. 

The  annual  election  for  Captain  of  the  tribe 
was  soon  to  be  held.  Antonio  was  preparing  a 
canvas,  having  offered  himself  for  the  office. 
He  was  wondering  what  he  should  do  if  elected ; 
how  best  to  serve  the  interests  of  his  people. 
The  lawsuit  decided  in  their  favor  (as  in  justice 
it  must  be),  the  coveted  borax  mine  would 
be  at  their  disposal.  Intelligent  management 
might  so  direct  it  as  to  remove  forever  the 
shadow  of  famine  that  hung  upon  the  reserva- 
tion. Each  man  should  have  a  common  share, 
and  all  should  have  enough.  Then  education 
must  reach  beyond  the  scope  of  the  government 
school.  A  university  should  be  founded  in 
which  youth  might  be  trained  to  the  status 
required  for  intelligent  citizenship,  which  could 
not  always  be  denied  his  race.  All  of  these 
schemes  might  become  realities  if  he  possessed 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

his  millions.  Now  he  recognized  that  they 
were  only  dreams.  But  as  he  yoked  his  oxen  to 
the  plough  and  resumed  his  work,  he  felt  a  joy- 
ous consciousness  of  power,  and  a  belief  that  the 
shaping  of  his  future  could  offer  no  more 
difficulty  than  the  upturning  of  the  gnarled  and 
stubborn  roots  which  were  to  furnish  his  em- 
ployer with  a  store  of  winter  fuel. 

At  sunset  he  took  his  fellow  laborers  to  their 
well-earned  rest,  carefully  watering  them  at  the 
brook  in  the  pasture  before  presenting  himself 
at  the  ranch-house  to  receive  his  dollar ;  then  he 
made  his  way  homeward  by  a  short-cut  through 
the  chaparral ;  not  an  easy  way,  for  the  tough 
branches  of  the  greasewood  smote  him,  the 
manzanita  tugged  at  his  hair,  and  in  more  open 
spaces  the  white-sage  brushed  him  closely, 
anointing  him  with  its  aromatic  scent,  to 
which  the  black-sage  and  blue-curls  added  yet 
heavier  perfumes  as  he  plunged  through  the 
fragrant  thickets  which  overspread  the  hill- 
sides, offering  incense  to  the  sun. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  near  the  school-house 
he  came  upon  an  agitated  crowd,  the  centre  of 
which  was  a  wagon  wherein  sat  those  older 
members  of  the  tribe  who  had  been  summoned 
to  town  as  witnesses  and  principals  in  the  law- 
suit. His  heart  bounded  anxiously. 
84 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"How  did  it  go,  Jose?"  he  cried,  peering 
over  interposing  heads  and  shoulders.  Jose 
recognized  the  voice,  and  turned  his  head  in 
sullen  despair. 

"Lost,  lost,"  he  replied;  and  a  groan  fol- 
lowed the  words;  but  "before  Antonio  could 
continue  a  new  speaker  took  up  the  thread  of  an 
interrupted  discourse.  It  was  to  him,  and  not 
to  the  dignitaries  in  the  wagon,  that  the  people 
were  listening  with  that  intensity  of  attention 
which  is  more  flattering  than  applause. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Antonio  of  his  neighbor 
in  the  crowd,  Felipe,  as  it  chanced. 

"A  new-comer,  Marco  by  name,"  was  the 
answer,  "a  clever  man  who  will  right  our 
wrongs." 

"A  ranting  demagogue,"  commented  An- 
tonio, uneasily. 

It  was  evident  that  Marco  held  his  audience, 
and  interruption  would  be  ineffectual.  His 
was  the  tongue  of  the  glib  orator,  ready  with 
specious  arguments  of  the  sort  that  dazzle 
ignorance  and  confound  wishes  with  proba- 
bilities. His  premise  was  the  fact  fondly  be- 
lieved and  founded  upon  history,  that  the  land 
from  horizon  to  horizon  belonged  to  the  Indian 
people.  His  conclusion  was  that  it  was  to  be 
restored  to  them  by  the  government  at  Wash- 
85 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ing  ton,  that  vast  central  power  known  only  by 
its  workings,  which  were  as  absolute  and 
incomprehensible  as  the  forces  of  nature;  and 
the  gist  of  the  matter  was  that  it  was  through 
him,  Marco,  the  trusted  counsellor  and  go- 
between,  that  Washington  was  to  treat  with  the 
tribe  at  Casa  Blanca. 

The  law  could  not  be  relied  upon  to  do  them 
justice — witness  the  infamous  decree  just  pro- 
mulgated to  drive  them  from  their  homes;  but 
Marco  would  go  direct  to  "Washington  and  lay 
the  matter  before  the  President.  Money  was 
necessary  for  his  journey,  and  this  his  audi- 
ence were  prepared  to  furnish,  the  hat  being 
already  in  rapid  circulation;  and  the  poorest 
man  present,  in  rags  and  lacking  a  meal,  was 
stripping  himself  of  a  day's  earnings  to  con- 
tribute his  mite.  Antonio  made  his  way  to  the 
fore,  and  mounting  upon  the  wagon -step,  de- 
manded attention. 

"Do  not  believe  a  man  whose  first  appeal  is 
for  money,"  he  said,  in  the  language  of  the 
tribe.  Marco  had  used  Spanish,  a  vile  patois  at 
that.  "This  man  is  a  deceiver.  He  is  not  even 
of  our  tribe.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  who  fattens 
on  the  misery  of  others.  The  President  has  no 
use  for  his  advice.  Such  as  he  have  no  influ- 


ence at  Washington." 


86 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Here,  as  if  by  accident,  Antonio  was  jostled 
from  his  perch.  The  horses  that  had  stood 
passive  with  dejectedly  hanging  heads  now 
started  forward  at  the  cut  of  a  whip  adminis- 
tered by  an  unseen  hand.  Marco,  who  seemed 
to  have  foreseen  the  movement,  had  swung 
himself  into  the  wagon  and  was  borne  in 
triumph  to  the  council  chamber,  where  he  con- 
tinued his  harangue.  Antonio  was  left  with  a 
small  following  upon  the  hillside. 

"It  is  no  use,"  said  Felipe.  "They  all  be- 
lieve him.  I  am  not  sure  myself  but  that  a 
dollar  given  to  him  might  be  well  invested. 
Something  must  be  done.  That  is  evident. 
You,  Antonio,  have  neither  money  nor  influ- 
ence, and  can  do  nothing.  We  are  to  lose  our 
homes  unless  we  can  raise  the  six  thousand 
dollars  for  the  appeal." 

"Are  the  bonds  fixed  at  that?"  asked  An- 
tonio, in  surprise. 

"Yes;  five  hundred  for  Wilson,  and  six  thou- 
sand for  us.  They  pretend  that  it  is  because 
there  are  several  of  us  in  the  case." 

"What  injustice!"  exclaimed  Antonio,  under 
his  breath. 

"It  might  as  well  be  six  million,"  continued 
Felipe.  "What  a  pity  you  have  not  your 
money !  They  were  saying  before  you  came  that 
87 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

you  acted  as  if  you  possessed  the  fortune  you 
expected.  You  wished  to  be  Captain,  and  to 
rule  where  older  heads  should  have  first  place. 
If  you  had  money  that  would  be  different. 
Marco  makes  definite  promises,  and  he  asks 
nothing  except  the  chance  to  prove  his  word. 
You  seek  first  of  all  your  own  advancement." 

"It  was  Jose  who  said  this?"  asked  Antonio. 

"Jos6,  and  Diego,  and  Samuel." 

"And  Marco  suggested  it  to  them?" 

"They  were  talking  it  over  together.  Marco 
might  have  been  Captain  if  he  were  born  in 
the  tribe." 

"Fortunate  for  us  that  he  is  not.  Felipe, 
you  are  my  friend,  and  I  count  upon  you  to 
call  a  meeting  of  the  younger  men,  all  who  can 
be  influenced,  at  nine  to-night,  by  the  big  oak 
tree  in  the  hollow.  I  will  be  there  to  address 
you  and  give  you  convincing  reasons  why  you 
should  trust  me  and  not  Marco.  Secure  the 
attendance  of  a  majority  of  the  voters  if  you 
can." 

By  counting  without  question  upon  Felipe's 
fidelity,  Antonio,  as  he  intended,  confirmed  the 
wavering  allegiance  of  his  friend. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  while  Marco  was 
treating  his  intimates  to  the  forbidden  fire- 
water at  Jennings 's  saloon,  while  the  more 
88 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

conservative  Indians  were  dancing  the  old  war 
dances  in  unison  to  mystic  wailing  chants  and 
the  rhythm  of  the  sacred  rattle,  while  the 
women  were  wailing  over  their  jeopardized 
hearthstones;  Antonio  stood  beneath  the  oak 
tree  and  disclosed  his  purposes  to  a  handful  of 
his  comrades. 

He  appealed  to  their  intelligence,  he  treated 
them  as  men  who  might  one  day  rank  as  equals 
of  the  white  men,  and  share  the  privileges  of 
the  country  whose  first-born  sons  they  were. 
Vain  demands  and  useless  complainings  would 
win  no  favor  at  Washington.  They  must  use 
the  machinery  of  the  law.  An  appeal  must  be 
filed  in  the  lawsuit,  by  which  they  might  main- 
tain their  rights. 

4 'There  is  no  absolute  justice  in  the  matter," 
he  concluded.  "We  are  not  here  to  demand 
what  once  was  ours,  but  only  that  to  which  we 
can  establish  a  legal  claim.  Our  wishes  can 
not  guide  us.  We  must  have  a  reasonable 
hope.  There  is  hope  in  an  appeal.  Will  you 
trust  me?  Will  you  give  me  your  votes?  Will 
you  secure  me  a  majority  in  the  election  if  I 
succeed  in  raising  the  amount  of  the  bonds?" 

"Six  thousand  dollars,"  commented  Felipe, 
breathlessly.  "Yes,  yes,  if  you  do  that  you 
shall  be  Captain."  So  his  audience  pledged 
89 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

themselves  in  tumultuous  enthusiasm,  and  the 
meeting  broke  up. 

Through  the  shadows  of  the  misty  mantle 
which  the  mountain  had  drawn  about  its 
shoulders,  the  dwellers  on  the  reservation  met 
and  passed  at  midnight  on  the  homeward  path. 
Marco  and  his  boon  companions  made  the  dark- 
ness ring  with  shouts  and  drunken  laughter. 

"I  choose  the  post-office  land  for  my  share,'* 
said  old  Diego;  "the  post-office,  and  the  store, 
and  the  sweet  crackers  in  the  window. ' ' 

"I'll  go  halves  with  you,  and  take  the  grog- 
shop," said  another.  "Think  of  it — whiskey, 
all  you  want,  rivers  of  whiskey!" 

"I'll  take  the  white  house,"  said  a  younger 
man.  "I'll  drive  old  Wilson  out,  and  burn  it 
down.  Whoop,  hallo!" 

"Drunken  dogs!"  said  one  of  a  couple  of 
horsemen  who  passed  at  full  gallop,  and  he  laid 
about  him  with  a  riding  whip  to  such  effect  that 
the  most  unsteady  of  the  revellers  lost  balance 
and  fell  in  the  effort  to  make  way  before  him, 
and  were  saved  from  the  trampling  hoofs  only 
by  that  providence  which  shields  the  drunken. 

The  younger  horseman  reined  his  mount  long 

enough  to  observe  that  no  one  had  been  injured, 

long  enough,  therefore,  to  hear  a  full  share  of 

the  curses  which  fell  upon  him  at  recognition; 

90 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

then,  with  a  heightened  angry  color,  he  followed 
his  friend,  and  dismounted  at  the  door  of  Casa 
Blanca. 

"Well,  it  is  no  wonder  they  are  angry, 
Burke,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  who  had  already 
recovered  his  good-humor.  "Poor  devils,  they 
lose,  we  win ;  it  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Come 
into  the  dining-room.  I  see  a  light,  and  from 
what  I  know  of  my  girls  I  guess  that  on  receipt 
of  my  telegram  they  brewed  some  punch  to  wel- 
come us.  Fact  is,  I  hear  a  fiddle.  They've 
asked  the  neighbors  in  and  are  dancing.  I 
wonder  what  they  take  us  for!  Perhaps  you 
can  ride  thirty  miles  and  then  dance  at  mid- 
night. I  could  when  I  was  young." 

"I  can  hardly  dance  in  riding  costume,"  said 
Burke. 

"But  it  is  very  becoming,"  said  Bessie,  who 
had  suddenly  appeared.  "We  are  all  here  to 
congratulate  you,  Mr.  Burke.  We  will  forgive 
you  dust  and  everything.  You  are  the  con- 
quering hero  since  you  have  won  us  our  case. 
I  knew  you  would.  You  have  a  lucky  star. 
I  believe  you  win  in  everything  you  under- 
take." 

Burke  followed  her  among  the  merrymakers, 
a  dozen  or  so,  who  were  whirling  to  the  strident 
notes  of  an  ill -tuned  fiddle.  He  went  the  more 
91 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

willingly,  since  through  the  open  door  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Dorothea  Fairfax. 

She  had  turned  pale  when  she  overheard 
Bessie's  words,  and  she  hardly  answered  Burke'a 
greetings,  though  his  eyes  held  hers  and  forced 
her  to  recognize  the  joy  he  felt  at  the  sight  of 
her. 

"It  has  been  so  long  since  I  have  seen  you," 
he  said,  noticing  how  well  her  evening  dress 
became  her,  her  lovely  neck  and  arms  partly 
revealed  among  its  laces  and  ribbons. 

"I  must  go  home,"  she  stammered. 

"But  you  will  dance  with  me  before  you  go." 

"Not  if  the  case  has  gone  against  us.  Not  if 
all  the  poor  people  down  there  are  homeless." 

"Do  you  blame  me  very  much?"  asked  Burke. 

"I  am  not  here  at  any  rate  to  congratulate 
you,"  she  answered.  "I  did  not  understand 
Miss  Wilson's  purpose.  I  did  not  know  you 
were  expected.  I  did  not  know  the  suit  had 
been  decided." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  in  agitation.  Burke 
saw  that  her  only  wish  was  to  escape. 

"I  am  not  going  to  dance  myself,"  he  said. 
"I  am  not  dressed  for  it,  nor  in  the  humor  for 
it.  May  I  see  you  home?" 

"It  is  only  a  step.  I  can  go  very  well  alone, " 
she  answered. 

92 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  accepted  no  rebuff,  but  ran  for  her 
shawl,  unheeding  Bessie's  protests  except  to 
promise  a  quick  return,  foreseeing  that  he  might 
perjure  himself. 

Dorothea  was  passive,  absent-minded  and 
unresponsive.  Burke  recognized  with  quick 
alarm  a  barrier  between  her  thought  and  his. 
His  late  enforced  absence  had  cost  him  dear; 
and  the  victory  for  which  he  had  worked  so 
eagerly  began  to  look  hateful  to  him. 

But  Dorothea  was  young,  she  was  a  woman, 
and  Burke  was  eloquent.  Little  was  lost  if  she 
would  listen  to  him,  and  he  opened  his  mouth 
to  speak;  when  at  the  moment  two  shadows 
grew  out  of  the  darkness  beside  them. 

"Please  take  my  arm,"  said  Burke,  "and 
come  upon  this  side  of  the  road.  Some  Indians 
are  coming,  and  they  are  all  drunk  to-night, 
and  rude  and  insulting,  as  I  have  found  to  my 
cost." 

"Not  all  of  them,  I  am  sure,"  she  answered, 
with  a  dangerous  spark  in  her  eyes.  "I  happen 
to  recognize  these  as  my  friends.  I  will  join 
them,  and  say  good-night  to  you." 

Burke  bit  his  lip  in  vexation,  as  she  ran  for- 
ward and  put  her  arm  around  the  shoulder  of  a 
weeping  woman  who  leaned  towards  her  and 
looked  up  into  her  face  in  an  attitude  of 
93 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

pathetic  trust,  dumb  except  in  eloquent  action. 
"What  is  it,  Marta?"  she  asked.  "Why  is  she 
crying  so,  Antonio?" 

"I  came  home  late,"  replied  Antonio,  "and 
I  found  that  Marta  was  gone,  no  one  knew 
where.  I  have  been  looking  for  her  every- 
where, and  I  found  her  at  last  in  the  graveyard 
stretched  out  on  Fernando 's  grave,  praying  that 
she  might  die  now  that  she  can  no  longer  own 
the  ground  where  he  rests." 

Marta's  sobs  burst  out  afresh. 

"But  we  are  going  to  appeal  the  case,"  he 
continued.  "She  must  not  give  up  yet." 

"Oh!  can  that  be  done,  Antonio?"  asked 
Dorothea,  eagerly;  and  the  heads  of  the  two 
were  bent  together  in  discussion  as  they  walked 
on,  forgetting  Burke,  until  words  and  forms 
were  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Burke  stood  with  bowed  head  and  contracted 
brow,  feeling  the  pain  of  bitter  discomfiture. 
A  strange,  unexpected  obstacle  barred  the 
progress  of  his  hopes.  Dorothea  saw  in  him 
the  oppressor  of  a  helpless  race  in  whose  cause 
she  had  taken  arms. 

This  discovery  gave  him  the  terror  which  a 

man  feels  who  builds  a  strong  dyke  against  the 

ocean  only  to  find  that  a  hidden  force  has  all  the 

while  been  undermining  it.     His  work  for  days 

94 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

and  weeks  had  been  sapping  the  foundation  of 
his  dearest  wishes.  His  triumph  in  the  law- 
suit which  evicted  the  Indians  had  thrust  him 
beyond  the  pale  of  Dorothea's  sympathies. 

How  could  he  dream  that  she  should  care  for 
them  with  any  personal  feeling ;  could  embrace 
that  woman  as  a  sister ;  could  speak  to  that  man 
as  a  friend? 

A  friend!  Burke  flushed  hotly  at  the 
thought.  He  could  not  be  jealous  of  an 
Indian;  but  if  he  himself  were  in  Antonio's 
place,  destitute,  oppressed,  appealing  hourly  to 
her  sympathies,  meeting  her  constantly,  what 
opportunities  might  he  riot  enjoy,  and  how 
richly  he  should  make  them  yield  advantage ! 

As  it  was,  what  could  he  do?  How  undo 
what  was  done?  How  justify  himself  against  a 
prejudice  founded  upon  his  own  actions? 
Should  he  become  the  champion  of  Antonio's 
tribe,  and  argue  upon  their  side  in  the  appeal? 

He  gave  an  uneasy  laugh,  recognizing  the 
length  of  folly  to  which  love  may  lead  a  man ; 
and  with  despair  in  his  heart  he  made  his  way 
to  the  white  house,  avoiding  the  music  and 
dancers,  and  reached  his  room  to  seek  his  bed, 
but  not  to  sleep. 


95 


CHAPTER    VI 

When  he  entered  the  breakfast  room  next 
morning  the  clock  marked  the  hour  of  ten,  and 
Mrs.  Jennings  alone  was  waiting  to  pour  his 
coffee. 

"How  good  of  you!"  he  said,  noticing  her 
pale  face  and  heavy  eyes,  and  the  tremor  of  her 
hands  as  she  busied  herself  to  serve  him. 

"The  servants  are  all  in  a  huff  to-day,"  she 
said.  "I  wonder  we  dare  trust  them  not  to 
poison  us.  What  can  you  expect  if  you  employ 
Indians,  savages,  whose  civilization  will  never 
be  more  than  skin  deep?" 

Burke  gave  an  uneasy  glance  at  the  form  of 
the  Indian  cook,  who  was  vindictively  clattering 
the  dishes  in  the  pantry. 

"Oh,  never  mind  Leonore,"  continued  Mrs. 
Jennings.  "She  has  been  discharged  for 
impertinence  an  hour  ago.  She  had  some 
trouble  with  Bessie,  and  perhaps  it  is  Bessie 
who  is  the  savage.  She  is  a  storm-cloud,  a 
cyclone,  this  morning.  You  would  better  keep 
out  of  her  way,  Harry.  It  is  you  who  have 
offended  her,  and  the  rest  of  us  must  suffer." 

"What  have  I  done?"  asked  Burke. 
97 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

44 You  do  not  remember  last  night?  Bessie 
gave  a  party  in  your  honor;  she  invited  Miss 
Fairfax  to  please  you ;  she  made  every  conces- 
sion. And  how  did  you  treat  her?  Miss  Fair- 
fax left  with  hardly  a  good-night  to  us  all. 
You  went  with  her,  and  did  not  reappear." 

"I  plead  guilty,"  said  Burke. 

"It  is  not  I  who  am  angry  with  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Jennings,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone. 
UI  have  been  talking  against  time.  Now  that 
Leonore  is  out  of  hearing  I  have  something  to 
say.  Look  there." 

She  pushed  back  the  heavy  hair  which  she 
wore  crimped  low  upon  the  forehead,  a  new  and 
unbecoming  fashion,  and  revealed  a  deep  red 
wound  cut  in  the  flesh  just  above  the  temple. 

"Sam  struck  me  with  his  whip,"  she  ex- 
plained; "struck  me  like  a  dog." 

Burke  exclaimed  in  indignant  anger. 

"Yes,  it  has  come  to  that,"  she  continued. 
"I  shall  get  my  divorce  now  without  trouble. 
But,  Harry,  my  heart  is  broken.  I  am 
degraded  in  my  own  eyes  to  think  that  I  have 
been  the  wife  of  such  a  man.  He  accused  me 
of  caring  for  you,  and  you  of  coming  here  to 
visit  me.  I  can  not  tell  you  what  he  said ;  and 
it  is  all  such  nonsense.  You  never  loved  me 
like  that,  even  in  the  old  days." 
98 


A  SOUL  in  BBONZE 

There  was  eager  interrogation  in  her  voice, 
but  Burke  did  not  note  it.  He  was  frowning 
and  tracing  patterns  on  the  tablecloth. 

"No,  no,"  he  answered.  "We  were  good 
friends,  that  was  all." 

She  drew  a  long,  quavering  breath,  and  sat 
bending  forward  with  her  hands  tightly  clasped, 
and  her  shining  eyes  keenly  regarding  him. 

"You  kissed  me  once  under  the  mistletoe,  I 
remember,"  she  declared. 

Burke  looked  up  quickly. 

"But  such  a  kiss  means  nothing,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

"I  have  done  many  foolish  things  in  my  life," 
said  Burke,  "but  nothing,  I  hope,  that  does 
not  prove  me  your  true  friend." 

"I  give  you  credit  for  that,"  she  answered. 
"You  are  not  the  sort  of  a  man  to  know  a  great 
love.  It  is  perhaps  because  your  ideals  are  too 
high.  Most  women  seem  to  you  like  empty- 
headed  dolls.  You  might  make  them  your 
playthings,  but  not  your  wife." 

"Have  I  been  that  sort  of  a  man?"  said 
Burke.  "It  is  a  despicable  character,  I  think. 
Perhaps  I  have  not  known  myself.  At  any 
rate,  my  punishment  has  come.  At  thirty-two 
I  am  deeply,  passionately,  hopelessly  in  love." 

Mrs.  Jennings  sank  back  upon  her  chair. 
99 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Her  breath  came  quickly  between  parted  lips. 
Her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tender  tears. 

4 'I  love  Dorothea  Fairfax,"  he  added,  avert- 
ing his  look  from  her  tell-tale  face. 

Mrs.  Jennings  sprang  from  her  seat  and 
energetically  tugged  the  bell-rope. 

"I  am  sure  that  Leonore  will  not  answer," 
she  said,  with  a  half -hysterical  laugh;  "but  if 
she  conies  please  make  her  wait  on  you.  It  is 
so  late,  and  I  am  very  busy.  Forgive  me  if  I 
leave  you." 

She  swept  out  of  the  room,  the  rustle  of  her 
silken  morning-gown  dying  away  upon  the  stairs. 

Burke  sat  as  she  had  left  him,  with  his  head 
upon  his  hands.  Bessie  presently  appeared 
upon  the  threshold,  fresh  from  contact  with  the 
outer  air,  a  waft  of  which  she  brought  with 
her. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Burke,"  she  said. 
"You  look  blue  enough  to  put  me  in  a  good 
humor.  I  have  been  in  a  devil  of  a  temper  all 
the  morning.  If  you  are  sad  I  am  glad.  Let 
us  make  up." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  Burke  took  it. 
"I  did  not  know  that  we  had  quarreled,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  every  one  has  been  upset,"  she 
answered.  "The  Indians  are  making  things 
100 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

hideous  at  the  reserve.  Nell  and  Sam  have 
had  another  fight.  This  time  she  means  to  get 
a  divorce,  but  that  is  an  old  story.  You  offended 
me  deeply  last  night;  but  on  second  thoughts  I 
will  not  scold  you.  I  am  easily  vexed,  but  I  do 
not  bear  malice.  And  Miss  Fairfax  has  gone, 
and  to-day  I  shall  have  you  all  to  myself.  So 
that  is  revenge  enough." 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  laughed  at  his 
look  of  eager  inquiry.  "  Where  has  she  gone? 
I  don't  know.  She  did  not  confide  in  me. 
She  went  with  her  aunt  for  chaperon,  and 
Antonio  Lachusa  for  escort ;  and  they  had  a  lot 
of  luggage,  and  seemed  to  be  starting  as  tour- 
ists. Jose  drove  them  in  the  farm  wagon,  and 
they  went  early  enough  to  meet  the  stage.  So  I 
have  told  you  all  I  know.  Thank  me  for  that. " 

"I  do  thank  you,  Bessie,"  said  Burke,  "for 
that  and  for  everything.  You  have  been  better 
to  me  than  I  deserve.  And  now  you  must  for- 
give me  for  hurrying  off  to  catch  the  train.  I 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Please  make  my 
farewells  to  your  mother." 

Bessie  walked  to  the  window  and  watched 
him  with  gloomy  eyes  as  he  rode  post-haste 
down  the  avenue  and  disappeared  beyond  the 
turning  in  the  road. 

"So  this  is  the  end  of  it  all,  Mr.  Burke,"  she 
101 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

exclaimed  under  her  breath,  "for  I  shall  not 
pine  as  Nell  does.  I  shall  not  wear  my  heart 
upon  my  sleeve  for  anybody.  Good-bye  and 
good  riddance!" 

Saying  which,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  buried 
her  head  upon  her  folded  arms,  and  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

Mrs.  Aguilar,  together  with  her  niece  and 
Antonio  Lachusa,  had  hardly  descended  from 
the  stage-coach  at  the  station,  where  the  train 
stood  waiting,  when  Burke  rode  up  and  joined 
them,  lifting  his  hat  for  greeting.  The  condi- 
tion! of  his  horse  caused  great  concern  among 
the  stable-men  and  coterie  of  idlers  on  the  plat- 
form. 

"I  thought  better  of  you,  Mr.  Burke,"  said 
the  hostler,  shaking  his  head.  "So  fine  a  piece 
of  horse-flesh." 

"It  was  a  hard  ride,"  Burke  answered,  "but 
with  care  he  will  be  all  right.  I  know  his 
mettle.  Men  and  horses  can  do  better  than 
their  best  if  need  be." 

He  leaped  aboard  as  the  cars  started,  and  took 
a  seat  directly  opposite  Dorothea,  who  blushed 
and  averted  her  eyes  after  responding  to  his 
bow.  She  sat  alone.  Her  aunt  was  engaged 
in  conversation  with  a  friend  at  the  further  end 
102 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

of  the  car.  Antonio  was  near  the  door  riding 
backwards  and  facing  Dorothea,  so  that  he 
observed  a  motion  which  she  made  and  came  at 
her  command. 

"Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me?"  he  asked, 
raising  his  hat. 

"Yes,  sit  down  beside  me,  Antonio,"  she 
replied.  "I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Burke  wondered  if  she  were  conscious  of  the 
chagrin  he  felt  in  the  situation  and  had  deliber- 
ately planned  it.  Was  it  for  his  benefit  that 
she  talked  to  Antonio  with  frank  upward 
glances  of  confidence  and  goodfellowship  given 
as  to  an  equal?  Was  she  willing  that  he  should 
overhear  the  subject  of  the  discussion  which 
seemed  to  absorb  her  soul,  the  consideration  of 
ways  and  means  for  raising  the  six  thousand 
dollars  necessary  to  furnish  bonds  for  the 
Indians? 

He  rose  and  retreated  to  the  rear  of  the  car, 
taking  the  now  vacant  place  by  Mrs.  Aguilar, 
who  received  him  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"I  am  fortunate  in  meeting  you,"  said 
Burke.  "Where  are  you  going?" 

She  hesitated  a  little  before  replying.  "We 
are  going  to  visit  our  lawyer  and  his  wife,  the 
Herefords,  at  Magnolia  ranch,  six  miles  from 
town." 

103 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  know  the  place,"  said  Burke.  "Hereford 
is  one  of  my  best  friends,  and  his  wife  is  like  a 
sister  to  me.  I  am  glad  you  are  to  be  there." 

44 She  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mrs. 
Aguilar,  "and  I  want  Dolly  to  know  her.  Mr. 
Hereford  is  to  advise  us  how  we  can  best  raise 
the  money  for  an  appeal.  You  are  our  enemy, 
yet  I  suppose  there  is  no  harm  in  telling  you 
that." 

"I  have  been  working  against  Hereford  in  the 
case,  yet  he  does  not  consider  me  an  enemy," 
said  Burke,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  vexation. 
"I  wonder  why  you  should  make  it  a  personal 
matter." 

"Oh,  Dolly  and  I  can  never  forgive  you  if  the 
Indians  are  evicted,"  she  answered.  "Logic  or 
no  logic,  that  is  the  way  we  feel." 

"I  hope  there  may  be  an  appeal,"  said  Burke. 
"Rather  than  suffer  such  injustice  from  you 
and  your  niece,  I  would  myself  furnish  the 
bonds." 

Mrs.  Aguilar  smiled  grimly.  "You  are  mak- 
ing a  joke  of  it,"  she  said,  "but  you  will  find 
that  with  us  it  is  serious  earnest." 

"I  wish  to  talk  to  your  niece  about  it,"  he 
said.     "Please  tell  her,  if  I  have  not  the  oppor- 
tunity, that  I  hope  to  call  upon  her  at  Magnolia 
ranch.     How  long  shall  you  be  there?" 
104 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"A  week,  perhaps,"  she  answered,  uneasily. 
"But  I  can  tell  you  frankly,  Mr.  Burke,  that 
you  will  not  be  welcome. ' ' 

"A  man  should  have  the  opportunity  to  plead 
his  own  cause,"  said  Burke.  "I  am  coming 
out  this  evening  to  see  Hereford  on  business. 
I  am  not  joking,  Mrs.  Aguilar.  To  please  your 
niece  I  am  ready  to  furnish  the  bonds  if  you  can 
not  raise  them  otherwise." 

"But  this  is  too  absurd,"  she  said,  with 
brightening  eyes. 

"Absurd  and  illogical,"  he  answered;  "but  I 
love  Dorothea  better  than  my  reputation  for 
consistency,  of  which  I  shall  have  little  left, 
I  own.  Still,  Hereford  need  not  disclose  the 
identity  of  his  bondsman." 

"It  seems  impossible  that  you  are  in  earnest, 
but  if  that  is  your  reason  I  must  believe  you," 
she  answered,  with  eager  interest,  glancing  from 
him  to  Dorothea,  upon  whom  his  eyes  rested 
with  an  expression  which  could  not  be  mis- 
understood. "Dolly  will  be  hard  to  win,"  she 
added. 

"I  only  ask  the  chance,"  he  said.  "You  can 
help  me  now.  Call  Lachusa  to  you,  and  allow 
me  an  hour's  talk  with  her." 

Mrs.  Aguilar  shook  her  head.  "It  is  not  safe 
to  play  providence  in  these  matters,"  she  said. 
105 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

» 

"You  have  no  confidence  in  me,"  he  com- 
plained. 

"It  does  no  man  harm  to  wait.  Perhaps 
Antonio,  too,  is  counting  on  this  hour's  talk." 

Burke  looked  down  upon  her  with  dilated 
eyes.  "Do  I  understand  that  you  consider  that 
the  Indian  yonder,  by  any  conceivable  circum- 
stance, could  be  my  rival?"  he  asked. 

The  scorn  and  indignation  in  his  look  and 
tone  roused  Mrs.  Aguilar  to  the  defence  of  her 
pet  theories,  yet  shook  her  soul  a  little.  There 
is  nothing  so  formidable  to  a  woman  as  the 
power  of  offended  conventionality. 

"Not  that  exactly,"  she  replied.  "He  is 
most  humble,  most  deferential ;  he  would  never 
presume ;  and  Dorothea  is  in  every  way  above 
him — in  birth,  position,  and  inherited  culture. 
Yet,  still  I  beg  you  to  remember  that  Antonio 
Lachusa  is  a  gentleman  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.  He  is  a  college  graduate,  widely  trav- 
elled, widely  read,  with  the  nicest,  most  refined 
sensibilities.  I  have  seen  him  daily,  he  has 
opened  his  heart  to  me  as  a  friend,  and  it  is  the 
heart  of  a  man  for  dignity  and  that  of  a  child 
for  purity.  He  is  my  friend,  I  am  proud  to  call 
him  that;  and  he  is  my  niece's  friend  since  he 
saved  her  life." 

"How  so?"  demanded  Burke,  with  head 
106 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

erect,  and  with  little  patience  for  the  answer. 
The  situation  seemed  to  him  intolerable. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  related  the  adventure  of  the 
rattlesnake. 

"  Dolly  wears  the  snake  skin  in  a  band  about 
her  hat,  you  see,"  she  said.  "It  is  a  perpetual 
reminder  of  what  she  owes  him." 

Burke  looked  uneasily  at  the  broad  sombrero 
which  crowned  Dorothea's  sunny  hair.  It  was 
trimmed  in  fantastic  style  with  a  band  of 
mottled  rattlesnake  skin.  She  wore  an  outing 
suit  with  shirtwaist  and  jacket,  and  about  her 
throat  a  crimson  silk  handkerchief  was  loosely 
knotted.  Antonio  also  wore  a  sombrero,  and  a 
bright  silk  handkerchief.  So  did  a  jolly  group 
of  Indian  youths  in  the  rear  of  the  car,  who 
sat  three  in  a  seat  by  preference,  with  arms 
about  each  others'  waists.  It  was  the  pictur- 
esque fashion  of  the  country.  Dorothea  thus 
proclaimed  herself  a  daughter  of  the  soil.  Burke, 
whose  snpersensitive  feelings  were  now  alive  to 
every  thorn-prick,  groaned  in  spirit. 

"Do  you  realize,  Mrs.  Aguilar,"  he  said, 
"that  you  are  responsible  to  Dorothea's  father 
for  the  acquaintances  she  makes  and  the  influ- 
ence they  may  exert  upon  her?" 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  answered,  "I  pray  every 
night  that  I  may  be  guided  in  my  duty  to  her 
107 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

and  others.  Dolly's  father  is  the  worst  influ- 
ence her  life  has  ever  known,  but  she  has  passed 
unhurt  through  the  furnace,  and  believes  him  a 
hero  and  a  saint.  Antonio  Lachusa  will  never 
do  her  harm.  I  would  trust  him  far  sooner 
than  many  a  so-called  gentleman  whose  past  is 
too  black  a  thing  for  an  innocent  girl  to  dream 
of.  He  is  as  pure  as  Galahad." 

"To  what  length  would  your  prepossession 
go?"  asked  Burke,  knitting  his  brow.  "At 
what  limit  would  you  stop?" 

"I  would  trust  my  niece  to  set  the  limit," 
she  answered,  with  dignity.  "I  feel  no  author- 
ity to  interfere." 

* '  Then  I  shall  interfere, ' '  he  exclaimed.  He 
bit  his  lip,  and  caught  his  breath  convulsively. 
"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Aguilar,"  he  added,  "but  I 
love  Dorothea." 

"And  I  love  her,"  she  answered,  "and  I  trust 
her,  too.  Your  heroics  only  amuse  me.  The 
surest  way  to  awaken  a  fancy  which  is  now 
quite  dormant  would  be  for  you  to  show  injus- 
tice to  Antonio.  Dorothea,  like  most  women, 
has  an  ardent  love  of  the  oppressed,  and  hatred 
of  the  oppressor.  Place  yourself  in  one  category 
and  Antonio  in  the  other." 

"I  see,"  said  Burke.  "I  will  be  patient,  and 
I  will  cultivate  a  love  for  the  Indian  race.  I 
108 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

will  pay  the  bonds.  What  more  can  I  do? 
Wear  a  sombrero  and  a  pink  handkerchief?  I 
will  buy  one  to-morrow." 

He  rose  with  a  formal  bow,  and  retreated  into 
the  smoking  compartment,  where,  with  hat 
pulled  low  over  his  brows,  he  meditated  long, 
an  unlighted  cigar  between  his  teeth. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  sighed  as  she  watched  him 
depart,  but  there  was  a  light  of  pleased  excite- 
ment in  her  eyes.  Life  is  occasionally  more 
interesting  than  a  novel;  and  Mrs.  Aguilar  had 
no  fictitious  interests,  since  she  had  no  time  to 
read  novels. 


109 


CHAPTEE  VII 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hereford  had  been  for  ten  years 
married  lovers.  Theirs  was  the  rare  and  ideal 
union  in  which  time  draws  the  bond  closer. 
They  had  no  children,  which  circumstance,  in 
their  case,  wrought  a  tenderer  mutual  depend- 
ence. 

Environment  may  have  had  its  share  in  pro- 
moting their  happiness.  Love  in  a  cottage, 
where  poverty  and  care  are  constant  guests,  may 
be  dust  and  ashes ;  but  love  in  a  cottage  em- 
bowered in  roses  which  bloom  perennially  in  the 
land  of  sunshine ;  a  cottage  set  in  the  midst  of 
orange  groves  which  yield  an  ample  income ;  its 
gardens  adorned  with  tropical  plants ;  its  lawns 
kept  green  by  exhaustless  irrigation ;  the  vine 
and  fig-tree  a  literal  shade ; — in  such  conditions 
joy  takes  no  hurried  flight. 

Mr.  Hereford's  study  was  furnished  with  the 
luxurious  simplicity  in  which  the  masculine 
mind  delights.  Burke  was  welcomed  and 
made  comfortable  in  an  easy  chair  by  an  open 
window  where  the  night  air  penetrated  fra- 
grantly, and  he  was  given  his  choice  of  a  long 
111 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

array  of  pipes  and  a  stock  of  superlative 
tobacco.  The  circumstances  made  his  con- 
fession easier. 

4 'Don't  think  me  a  fool,  Hereford,"  he  was 
saying.  "I  have  not  quite  lost  my  senses,  and 
I  am  too  old  to  act  upon  impulse.  It  may  seem 
insane  to  you,  but  I  have  a  reason." 

"And  a  very  good  reason,  a  very  pretty 
reason,"  rejoined  his  friend,  archly;  "a  reason 
with  a  pair  of  beautiful  eyes,  and  a  smile  that 
would  make  it  easy  for  any  man  to  perjure 
himself.  I  have  always  thought  you  invincible, 
Burke,  and  I  can  not  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to 
have  you  hit  and  hard  hit  at  last." 

"I  don't  know  how  you  have  guessed  it," 
said  Burke,  behind  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"Oh,  when  Lachusa  got  the  discouraging 
answer  which  was  awaiting  him  at  the  telegraph 
office,  Miss  Fairfax  was  desperately  disap- 
pointed," said  Hereford.  "Then  her  aunt 
confided  to  us  your  remarkable  proposition,  and 
gave  us  a  hint  of  your  reason,  a  hint  sufficient 
for  me,  and  perhaps  for  Miss  Dolly,  for  she 
grew  as  red  as  a  rose." 

"Well,"  said  Burke,  "I  have  a  check  ready 

in  your  name  for  the  amount.     I  suppose  I  may 

trust  you  for  the  sake  of  my  reputation  as  a 

business  man  to  keep  the  secret.     Credit  it  to 

112 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

an  Eastern  sympathizer,  to  the  Indian  Associa- 
tion, anything  you  please.  And  now,  if  you 
can  help  me  to  ten  words  with  Miss  Fairfax 
I  will  bless  you  forever." 

"You  deserve  as  much  as  that,"  said  Here- 
ford. "A  man  of  your  age  who  will  give  up 
prejudice,  conviction — everything — for  love  is  a 
rare  bird  in  these  days.  I  like  you  the  better 
for  it,  Burke." 

He  spoke  as  the  man,  the  happy  husband; 
but  the  habit  of  the  lawyer  reasserted  itself  as 
he  took  Burke's  check  and  locked  it  in  his 
desk.  A  comical  expression  of  anxiety  and 
regret  showed  itself  in  his  face.  He  looked 
after  the  broad-shouldered  form  of  his  friend, 
who  was  impatiently  preceding  him,  shook  his 
head  mournfully,  and  exclaimed  under  his 
breath,  "Good  Lord,  what  fools  we  mortals  be!" 

Dorothea  had  been  walking  in  the  garden 
with  Mrs.  Hereford.  It  was  nine  o'clock,  and 
the  full  moon  shone  gloriously,  flinging  the 
shadow  of  broad  palm  leaves  across  the  path. 
Suddenly  Mrs.  Hereford  raised  her  head. 
"John  is  calling  me,"  she  said.  "Excuse  me; 
I  will  be  back  in  a  moment." 

Dorothea  was  not  unwilling  to  be  alone. 
The  beauty  of  the  night — the  mountains  rising 
pearly-tinted  on  one  side,  the  silver  waves  of 
113 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

the  Pacific  shining  on  the  other,  the  calm  of 
the  sleeping  garden  sweet  with  the  breath  of 
orange  blossoms — filled  her  soul  with  the  joy 
that  borders  upon  tears.  She  seated  herself 
upon  a  bench  and  waited,  smiling  at  her 
thoughts,  until  at  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps  she  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm:  "I 
think  you  are  a  happy  woman,  Mrs.  Hereford. 
Life  must  be  easy  in  a  home  like  this." 

It  was  Burke  who  stood  before  her. 

"Make  such  a  home  and  share  it  with  me, 
Dorothea,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  looked  about  her  quickly,  as  if  seeking  to 
escape. 

"I  love  you,  dear,"  said  Burke,  bending  over 
her.  "I  have  loved  you,  I  believe,  from  the 
first  moment.  It  seems  that  I  have  loved  you 
all  my  life.  I  will  be  very  patient,  but  tell  me 
there  is  hope  for  me." 

Her  look  of  grave  surprise,  the  denial  in  her 
gesture,  cut  him  to  the  heart.  He  continued 
his  wooing  with  eager  persistency.  The 
luminous  seclusion  of  the  night,  the  soft,  pas- 
sionate air,  wooed  for  him,  but  her  heart  was 
steeled  against  him. 

"I  can  hardly  think  that  this  is  true — all  that 
you  say.     You  have  known  me  so  short  a  time. 
I  do  not  mean  to  be  unkind,"  she  added,  in 
114 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

reply  to  his  ardent  protestations.  "You  may 
deceive  yourself.  You  will  come  to  know,  as  I 
do,  that  there  can  be  no  real  sympathy  between 
us." 

"In  what  can  I  not  sympathize?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "There  is  nothing  of  value  to  me 
compared  to  your  happiness.  I  would  gladly 
sacrifice  my  opinions  and  prejudices  to  fulfill  a 
wish  of  yours.  Do  you  doubt  me,  Dorothea? 
I  will  prove  it  this  way :  It  is  such  a  little  thing 
compared  to  what  I  would  like  to  do, — not  more 
than  if  I  should  pick  this  rose  and  give  it  to 
you;  but  Hereford  has  my  check  for  six  thou- 
sand dollars  for  the  appeal.  I  have  just  handed 
it  to  him." 

A  slight  flush  mounted  to  the  girl's  cheek, 
and  she  looked  at  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"I  believe  I  would  thank  you  more  for  the 
rose,  Mr.  Burke,"  she  said.  "I  am  not  sure 
that  a  man  has  the  right  to  sacrifice  his  convic- 
tions and  the  interests  of  his  client  just  to  please 
a  foolish  girl.  I  am  afraid  I  am  very  ungrate- 
ful, for  I  am  not  pleased.  If  it  had  been  your 
own  wish,  your  real  opinion,  that  would  have 
pleased  me." 

"Oh,  Dorothea,  be  less  severe,"  he  cried. 
"Love  me  a  little,  then  you  will  not  exact  so 
much." 

115 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"From  your  point  of  view  I  must  seem  un- 
reasonable," she  replied.  "I  thank  you  for 
what  you  have  given  up  for  my  sake,  and  for 
what  you  offer  me ;  but  if  there  were  no  other 
reason,  there  would  be  one  thing  between  us, 
Mr.  Burke, — my  father.  It  shows  how  short 
our  acquaintance  has  been,  that  I  have  never 
spoken  to  you  of  my  father." 

Burke  remembered  what  he  had  heard  of 
Dorothea's  father,  but  the  thought  filled  him 
with  added  tenderness,  foreshadowing  the  dis- 
appointment that  must  some  day  await  her. 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  he  said. 

"I  shall  never  marry  while  my  father  lives," 
she  continued.  "He  is  planning  to  follow  me 
to  California,  and  I  have  promised  to  make  a 
home  for  him  where  he  may  be  happy  at  last. 
He  has  had  a  hard  life,  a  battle  with  the  world, 
and  with  false  friends  and  unkind  tongues.  I 
am  the  only  one  who  really  knows  and  appre- 
ciates him.  Even  Mrs.  Aguilar  is  unjust  to 
him.  You  know  there  are  some  natures,  rash, 
impulsive,  independent  natures,  that  are  always 
misunderstood." 

Burke  assented. 

"I  love  him  so  well,"  she  continued,  "that  it 
will  be  my  greatest  happiness  to  give  up  my 
life  to  him.  As  for  you,  Mr.  Burke,  I  like  you 
116 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

very  much  as  a  friend.  Why  need  you  think 
of  anything  else?" 

Burke  sighed.  "You  do  not  know  your  own 
heart,  Dorothea,"  he  said.  "There  is  love 
there  waiting  to  be  awakened  like  the  sleeping 
princess  with  a  kiss.  Your  father  will  wish  you 
to  marry  some  day.  I  will  wait  for  you  as 
long  as  need  he,  and  some  day  we  will  have  a 
home  like  this  and  share  it  with  him." 

Dorothea  hardly  heard  these  words.  Her 
thoughts  were  far  away,  and  anxiety  clouded 
her  face  as  she  said:  "I  am  very  much  worried 
about  papa.  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  heard 
from  him,  and  last  night  I  had  a  horrid  dream. 
I  thought  I  saw  him  stand  beneath  the  gallows 
with  a  rope  about  his  neck,  and  there  was  a 
great  crowd  looking  on,  and  all  were  waiting 
for  a  pardon  that  might  come ;  and  it  was  you 
who  were  to  bring  it  from  the  judge,  but  you 
would  not,  and  I  was  on  my  knees  before  you, 
begging  you  to  hurry,  till  at  last  they  drew  the 
rope  up.  Oh!  it  was  so  terrible!" 

Burke  sank  upon  his  knees  before  her. 
"Dreams  go  by  contraries,"  he  said.  "This  is 
what  it  meant.  I  was  to  kneel  to  you,  begging 
you  for  just  one  kiss,  and  you  would  not,  oh, 
no,  for  you  were  cruel;  and  the  pain  in  my 
heart  grew  worse  and  worse,  until  at  last  you 
117 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

took  pity  on  me,  and  leaned  forward  ever  so 
little,  and  put  one  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and 
gave  me  your  dear  lips  for  my  very  own,  my 
darling,  my  wife." 

His  arm  was  about  her  waist,  his  breath  was 
on  her  cheek,  and  his  eyes  drew  her  pleadingly, 
imperiously,  to  his  will.  Dorothea,  dismayed 
yet  passive,  like  a  fascinated  bird,  looked  at 
him  in  alarm;  when  the  gravel  crunched 
beneath  a  footstep,  and  the  spell  was  broken. 

Burke  started  to  his  feet,  and  turned  to  face 
Antonio  Lachusa. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Antonio,  with  his  eyes 
on  Dorothea.  "Mrs.  Aguilar  told  me  that  I 
should  find  you  here.  I  have  spent  hours  at 
the  telegraph  office,  and  a  good  deal  of  money 
too.  The  telegraph  is  expensive.  But  at  last 
I  have  succeeded.  The  Indian  Association  has 
decided  to  go  security,  and  the  Associated  Loan 
Company  will  advance  the  amount  of  the  bonds. 
Our  case  will  be  appealed." 

Dorothea  sprang  from  her  seat.  "Oh,  I  am 
so  glad,  Antonio,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
hearty  delight.  "How  clever  you  have  been  to 
do  all  that!" 

Burke  read  in  her  expression  the  bitterness  of 
a  double  rejection.  She  had  forgotten  him  and 
his  gift  in  her  satisfaction  at  Antonio's  mes- 
118 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

sage,  and  her  eyes,  if  they  spoke  the  truth, 
declared  a  personal  interest  in  the  messenger,  a 
stalwart,  handsome,  manly  figure,  but — an 
Indian. 

Antonio  received  her  praises  modestly,  calmly 
ignoring  Burke's  wrathful  and  impatient  pose. 

"Marta  will  be  glad,"  he  said.  "Fernando 's 
grave  will  still  be  hers,  and  Pedro  will  die  in 
the  home  that  has  been  his  for  ninety  years. 
I  thought  I  would  first  bring  the  news  of  it  to 
you,  and  then  hire  a  horse  and  ride  home  to- 
night with  the  tidings." 

"It  is  a  long  ride,  and  you  will  be  quite  worn 
out,"  she  said. 

"I  am  strong,"  replied  Antonio.  "Look 
here." 

He  grasped  by  one  round  the  bench  which 
stood  before  him,  and  raised  it  by  a  straight 
uplifted  arm  high  above  his  head.  "I  could 
do  that,  too,  with  your  weight  upon  it,"  he 
added. 

"Pray  don't  try,"  she  said,  with  a  merry 
laugh,  a  spark  of  admiration  in  her  eyes. 
"You  are  a  Hercules." 

"It  is  an  argument  against  civilization,"  said 
Burke,  "that  the  average  physical  strength  in 
savage  races  is  superior  to  our  own." 

Some  offences  bring  swift  retribution.  At 
119 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

this  speech  the  flame  of  indignation  glowed  in 
Dorothea's  eyes.  "Come  into  the  house,  An- 
tonio," she  said,  "and  tell  Mrs.  Hereford  the 
good  news.  I  suspect  you  have  taken  little 
time  for  your  meals  to-day,  and  you  must  have 
a  good  supper  before  you  start.  Mrs.  Hereford 
will  gladly  contribute  it  to  the  cause,  I  am 
sure." 

She  preceded  him  through  the  garden  and 
into  the  lighted  dining-room,  where  Burke  saw 
her  engaged  in  smiling  conversation  with 
Lachusa,  and  actually  waiting  upon  him  with 
her  own  hands. 

Antonio  accepted  all  with  due  humility.  If 
joy  and  triumph  were  in  his  heart  his  dark  eyes 
did  not  show  it.  The  dignity  and  decorum  of 
his  manners  could  not  be  surpassed  by  an  East 
Indian  prince  of  highest  caste.  He  talked 
well,  and  he  listened  with  that  gratifying 
deference  of  attention  which  is  a  less  common 
art.  Mrs.  Hereford  was  delighted  with  him  as 
if  he  were  a  new  discovery,  a  rare  anthropolog- 
ical specimen.  She  assisted  Dorothea  to  pre- 
pare his  supper,  lent  him  a  horse,  and  speeded 
his  departure  through  the  moonlit  night. 

Burke  had  before  this  taken  refuge  with  his 
friend.  He  was  in  cynical  mood,  and  Here- 
ford, with  sympathetic  tact,  made  no  inquiries. 
120 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"That  check  will  not  be  needed  after  all,  it 
seems,"  said  Burke,  when  at  last  he  rose  to  go. 

Hereford  opened  the  drawer  and  returned  the 
paper,  which  Burke  tore  into  fragments. 
Dorothea  and  her  aunt  had  disappeared,  and 
his  host  and  hostess  followed  him  to  where  his 
light  carriage  stood  waiting. 

"I  suppose  Miss  Fairfax  did  not  take  your 
call  to  herself,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "She  was 
tired  and  has  said  good-night." 

"May  Nora  know  your  secret?"  asked  Here- 
ford. 

"I  have  asked  Dorothea  to  be  my  wife," 
Burke  explained  to  the  lady,  whose  eyes  now 
eagerly  interrogated  him,  "but  she  will  give  me 
no  hope." 

"Oh,  she  will  say  yes  in  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Hereford.  "She  must.  I  shall  insist  upon  it ; 
such  a  good  fellow  as  you  are!" 

"If  you  wish  to  help  me,  keep  her  with  you," 
he  urged.  "I  shall  not  intrude  too  much 
upon  her,  but  I  feel  that  she  will  be  safe  under 
your  influence.  At  Casa  Blanca  there  are  cer- 
tain things  which  raise  a  barrier  between  us — 
her  interest  in  the  Indians,  my  lack  of  sympathy 
with  her  enthusiasms,  heaven  knows  what." 

"We  will  do  our  best  to  help  you,"  was  the 
reply.     * ' I  love  her  already  myself. ' ' 
121 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

At  this  declaration  Burke  would  have  lin- 
gefed  to  enter  upon  the  subject  dearest  to  the 
lover's  heart,  the  perfections  of  the  beloved; 
but  Hereford  bade  him  a  laughing  farewell, 
holding  up  his  watch  as  a  reminder  of  the  hour, 
and  his  hostess  called  friendly  good-nights  and 
waved  her  hand  till  he  was  out  of  sight, 


122 


CHAPTER  VIII 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  Antonio  rode  up 
Johnson's  grade  in  the  dazzling  moonlight, 
which,  reflected  from  the  white  granite  walls  of 
the  canon,  was  like  the  glare  of  a  calcium 
light,  throwing  densely  black  shadows  beneath 
every  tree  and  buttressed  cliff.  The  stillness  of 
the  night  was  intensified  rather  than  broken  by 
the  occasional  hoot  of  an  owl,  and  the  wailing 
bark  of  the  coyote. 

His  horse's  hoof -beats  echoed  sharply  on  the 
rocky  way.  Antonio  spared  him  the  steepest 
grades  by  walking  with  the  bridle  flung  across 
his  arm. 

This  was  the  theatre  of  the  hold-up.  Here, 
for  the  first  time,  Dorothea  had  spoken  to  him. 
He  remembered  her  brave  eyes  and  the  pathetic 
pallor  of  her  face.  He  recalled,  too,  the 
tumultuous  emotion  that  had  stirred  his  heart 
at  the  soft  pressure  of  her  unconscious  head 
upon  his  shoulder.  He  had  loved  her  at  that 
moment ;  but  how  much  more  truly  now  that 
she  had  so  often  blessed  him  with  her  smiles 
and  friendly  words,  each  one  of  which  was  like 
123 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

a  strand  in  a  woven  cable,  that  no  shock  of  fate 
nor  strain  of  time  could  break !  His  love  was 
the  breath  of  his  life,  the  sustaining  power  of 
his  being.  He  could  not  resist  it  nor  reason 
against  it,  any  more  than  he  could  resist  the 
impulse  that  filled  his  lungs. 

As  he  walked  with  uplifted  head  in  the  full 
consciousness  of  his  manhood,  he  was  ready  to 
do  and  dare  all  that  a  man  may.  In  the  vast 
serenity  of  the  wilderness  the  petty  conven- 
tions of  life  shrank  into  nothingness.  Circum- 
stance and  condition  were  things  within  a 
man's  shaping.  The  daring  of  his  hopes  had 
overleaped  the  chasm  of  race  lines.  Baring  his 
soul  to  the  glorious  light  of  heaven,  he  felt  that 
he  was  worthy  and  might  be  blessed. 

It  was  not  Dorothea's  kindness  which  had 
suddenly  transformed  his  thought;  rather,  it 
was  the  jealous  apprehension  which  he  had 
recognized  in  Burke's  glance.  It  was  not  scorn 
alone  that  he  had  read  there,  but  a  certain 
terror  of  his  influence.  One  is  not  feared  with- 
out a  cause.  Antonio  began  to  sing  an  old 
half -for  gotten  Spanish  love-song.  At  the  top 
of  the  grade  he  remounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
down  the  slope  and  over  the  level  plain  like  an 
arrow  shot  from  a  bow. 

It  is  good  to  live ;  to  be  a  man,  conscious  of 
124 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

youth  and  strength  and  the  power  of  the  human 
will.  It  is  good  to  love,  and  to  feel  the  death- 
less impulse  which  urges  the  union  of  soul  with 
soul  as  dewdrop  blends  with  dewdrop  on  the 
rose-leaf,  obeying  the  compelling  force  that 
moves  the  worlds. 

The  day  was  .broad  and  bright  when  he 
entered  the  rancheria  at  Casa  Blanca.  As  he 
rode  down  the  hill  he  was  struck  with  the  si- 
lence and  desolation  of  the  spot.  No  men  were 
abroad  in  the  fields.  No  smoke  wreaths  rose 
above  the  chimneys;  and  on  nearer  view  the 
place  was  empty  of  its  inhabitants.  An  old 
gaunt  dog,  ownerless,  and  befriended  only  by 
Antonio,  crawled  out  from  his  bed  by  a 
smouldering  hearth-fire  and  licked  the  new- 
comer's feet. 

uHallo,  Odysseus,"  said  Antonio,  and  the 
dog  recognized  the  title  his  new  master  had 
bestowed  upon  him  and  responded  by  such 
grateful  motions  as  his  stiff  form  would  allow. 
"  Where  are  the  rest?  Are  you  the  only  one 
expecting  me?" 

It  hurt  him  that  the  tribe  should  have  so 
little  confidence  in  the  success  of  his  mission. 
He  had  fancied  that  eager  outposts  would  recog- 
nize him,  and  give  the  first  report  of  his 
arrival.  He  had  promised  to  return  without 
125 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

delay  if  he  should  succeed  in  his  expectation  of 
raising  the  amount  of  the  bonds.  This,  too, 
was  the  day  of  election,  and  Antonio  had  set 
his  heart  upon  gaining  that  first  stepping-stone 
in  his  new  ambitions,  the  office  of  Captain  of 
the  tribe. 

He  fed  and  stabled  his  weary  horse,  then 
made  his  way  to  a  deep  well -like  pool,  exhaust- 
less  in  the  longest  droughts,  where  he  stripped 
and  plunged  in  the  icy  waters,  out  of  which  he 
rose  refreshed.  Making  his  toilet  with  what 
care  he  might,  he  breakfasted  on  the  sandwiches 
which  Dorothea's  hands  had  prepared,  worship- 
ping her  goodness  as  he  ate ;  then  took  his  way 
to  the  village,  looking  for  such  stray  bits  of 
information  as  come  unasked  in  a  country 
neighborhood. 

The  first  rusty-coated  farmer  whom  he  met 
fulfilled  his  expectations.  " Hallo,  Lachusa," 
he  said.  "We  want  you  for  the  grape  harvest- 
ing. I  come  down  this  morning  to  hire  a  lot  of 
Indians,  and  find  the  hull  lot  of  'em  off  to 
Leona  at  a  fiesta  where  that  low-lived  Marco  has 
led  them  and  set  up  a  rebellion,  I  should  call  it. 
The  bucks  are  dancing  in  their  war-paint,  and 
they've  bought  a  keg  of  whiskey  at  Jennings 's 
store.  The  women  have  gone  too,  and  they'll 
make  a  week  of  it.  Meantime,  my  grapes  will 
126 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

be  rotting  on  the  vines.  They're  bursting  with 
ripeness,  and  the  bees  are  at  'em.  One  hand 
hardly  counts,  but  you're  a  good  worker.  Will 
you  come?  I  '11  give  you  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
day." 

"I  should  be  glad  to,  but  I  have  business  on 
hand,"  replied  Antonio. 

"Want  a  taste  of  that  whiskey,  I  suppose. 
Well,  one  don't  count,  no  way.  I'll  go  over 
Hilton  way  and  hire." 

He  whipped  up  his  nag  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight.  Antonio  stood  irresolute.  He  walked 
past  the  school-house,  a  spot  beloved  for  its 
associations  with  Dorothea,  and  he  mused 
awhile  in  the  shadow  of  the  fig-tree  where  he 
had  first  met  Mrs.  Leigh. 

Retracing  his  steps,  he  paused  in  surprise, 
observing  that  the  school -house  door  stood  ajar. 
He  looked  within,  wondering  what  interloper 
had  intruded  in  the  absence  of  the  owners. 
Perhaps  Marta  had  remained  behind  the  others 
to  sweep  and  clean  in  preparation  for  Mrs. 
Aguilar's  return. 

The  two-roomed  cottage  which  was  attached 
to  the  school -building  proper  gave  limited 
accommodation  to  the  teacher's  family.  A  low 
table  in  the  living-room  was  spread  with  Doro- 
thea's silver  toilet  articles,  and  it  held  the 
127 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

photographs  which  Antonio  knew  well  by  sight, 
the  most  conspicuous  among  them  being  that  of 
an  elderly  man  with  a  handsome  sensual  face, 
which  bore  traces  of  dissipation,  yet  preserved  a 
certain  inborn  grace.  This  was  Dorothea's 
father.  She  had  enshrined  him  in  a  heavy  sil- 
ver frame.  The  flowers  which  Antonio  gathered 
for  her  on  the  mountains  she  placed  in  a  crystal 
vase  before  the  picture,  as  if  doing  homage  to 
her  love.  She  talked  constantly  of  her  father. 
Antonio  knew  that  she  adored  him,  and  he 
admired  in  her  a  trait  common  in  the  Indian 
race,  with  whom  family  affection  is  deep  and 
ardent. 

Antonio  now  saw  to  his  surprise  a  stranger, 
dust-stained  and  weary,  seated  in  Dorothea's 
chair ;  and  with  even  greater  surprise  he  recog- 
nized that  he  was  the  original  of  the  silver- 
framed  portrait.  Mr.  Fairfax  had  arrived  in 
his  daughter's  absence,  unexpected  and  unan- 
nounced. 

Antonio  pushed  the  door,  and  the  stranger 
sprang  to  his  feet,  a  look  of  expectation,  almost 
of  fear,  in  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  employed  by  Mrs.  Aguilar?"  he 
asked.  "I  came  to  see  her  and  Miss  Fairfax. 
Are  they  not  at  home?" 

"They  are  making  a  short  visit  at  Magnolia 
128 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ranch,  six  miles  from  town,  and  fifty  miles  from 
here,"  replied  Antonio,  eager  to  be  of  service  to 
Dorothea's  father. 

"I  came  in,  since  no  one  answered  my  knock, 
and  the  door  was  insecurely  fastened,"  explained 
Fairfax.  "The  neighborhood  seems  deserted. 
I  met  no  one  on  the  way.  I  planned  my  com- 
ing as  a  surprise,  but  I  might  be  regarded  as  an 
intruder.  If  you  are  here  to  guard  the  premises 
you  may  fancy  I  am  planning  to  fill  my  pockets 
with  these  nicknacks.  One  degenerates  into 
a  tramp  after  a  long  drive  over  these  dusty 
roads." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  silver  orna- 
ments upon  the  table,  then  paused  and  blushed, 
recognizing  his  own  portrait  among  them,  and 
observing  that  the  Indian  had  also  become 
cognizant  of  the  likeness.  He  continued 
hurriedly:  "If  I  can  not  see  the  ladies  I  will 
attend  to  a  matter  of  business  which  I  have  on 
hand.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  a  man 
called  Samuel  K.  Jennings?" 

Antonio's  look  darkened  quickly.  "Mr. 
Jennings  is  postmaster,"  he  answered,  "and 
keeps  the  store  and  saloon  attached  to  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Fairfax,  "that  is  the  man.  Is 
he  in  the  store,  I  wonder?" 

"You  can  easily  find  out,"  said  Antonio. 
129 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"It  is  half  a  mile  over  yonder,  in  the  direction 
of  the  meeting-house.  Any  one  will  show  you 
the  way." 

"I  should  prefer  to  meet  Mr.  Jennings  else- 
where than  at  the  store,"  said  Fairfax.  "Will 
you  do  me  the  favor  of  inquiring  if  he  is  there? 
Give  him  this  card,  if  you  please." 

He  took  a  card  from  his  pocket,  wrote  a  few 
words  on  it,  and  placed  it  in  an  envelope,  which 
he  sealed  and  handed  to  Antonio.  "I  will  wait 
here  till  your  return,"  he  added. 

Antonio  reluctantly  undertook  the  commis- 
sion. He  never  willingly  set  foot  in  Jennings 's 
store,  nor  interchanged  a  word  with  the  man 
whom  he  loathed  as  worse  than  a  venomous 
reptile ;  but  he  would  have  sacrificed  much  for 
Dorothea's  father,  and  he  went  quickly  on  his 
errand. 

It  was  unsuccessful.  Mr.  Jennings  had  gone 
to  Hilton,  and  was  not  expected  to  return  until 
evening. 

Fairfax  heard  this  discontentedly.  He 
seemed  ill  at  ease,  and  consumed  by  feverish 
impatience. 

"You  say  the  ladies  will  not  return  to-day?" 

he  said.     "Well,   I  will  spend  the  day  here. 

I  do  not  care  to  tell  you  my  name,  but  I  may 

say  that  I  have  a  right  to  Mrs.  Aguilar's  hos- 

130 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

pitality.      You  see,   she    has   my  photograph 
there.     I  am  a  friend." 

Antonio  nodded  his  comprehension. 

"I  shall  sleep  all  day,  no  doubt,"  continued 
Fairfax.  "I  have  travelled  far,  and  have  had 
little  rest.  Can  I  depend  on  you  to  find  out  the 
exact  hour  of  Mr.  Jennings 's  return,  to  deliver 
that  envelope  to  him  at  the  very  moment  of  his 
setting  foot  in  this  place,  and  then  to  come  back 
to  me  and  show  me  the  way  to  the  Bonanza 
mine,  where  I  have  asked  him  to  meet  me?  It 
is  near  here,  I  believe." 

Antonio  nodded  again.  "A  mile  to  the  east, 
over  the  hill,"  he  answered. 

"I  wish  to  keep  my  presence  here  a  secret,  at 
least  till  I  have  seen  Jennings,"  continued  Fair- 
fax. "Can  I  depend  on  you?" 

4 ' Most  assuredly,"  replied  Antonio.  "I  will 
watch  for  his  coming  and  deliver  the  note. 
Then  I  will  come  back  and  be  at  your  com- 
mand." 

"I  will  pay  you  well  for  your  trouble,"  said 
Fairfax. 

The  light  came  into  Antonio's  eyes.  "It  is  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  serve  you,"  he  said.  "The 
service  is  freely  given." 

Left  alone,   Fairfax  flung  himself   upon  a 
couch  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  miserable  thoughts 
131 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

intruded  and  kept  him  waking.  So  this  was 
the  home-coming  that  he  had  pictured  in  lively 
colors.  He  came  unannounced,  meaning  to  see 
Dorothea  secretly  and  win  her  consent  to  an 
immediate  departure  for  Europe,  on  the  plea  of 
a  sudden  business  necessity.  He  would  sell  the 
gold  mine  and  give  up  all  his  plans  rather  than 
live  in  a  neighborhood  made  hateful  by  the 
presence  of  Samuel  K.  Jennings. 

Guilty  fear  had  tortured  him  when  he  had 
read  that  well-remembered  name  upon  the  page 
of  Dolly's  letter.  It  was  as  if  fate  pursued  him 
with  an  ironical  revenge.  He  had  placed  his 
dearest  hostage  all  unwittingly  in  the  very  camp 
of  the  enemy.  It  was  possible  to  remain  at  a 
distance  and  send  for  his  daughter  to  join  him. 
This  would  have  been  the  part  of  prudence ;  but 
his  affairs  were  in  order,  his  ticket  was  bought, 
the  surprise  he  had  prepared  for  her  was 
planned  before  her  letter  came ;  and  a  certain 
manly  shrinking  from  the  acknowledgment  of 
defeat  made  him  unwilling  to  confess  even  to 
himself  the  weakness  of  his  position. 

It  was  still  possible  to  avoid  the  meeting  with 
his  enemy,  or  to  carry  it  off  with  a  high  hand. 
Jennings 's  reputation  was  such  as  to  discredit 
any  statements  that  he  could  make ;  and  as  for 
actual  evidence,  what  had  he  now  that  he  could 
132 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

not  have  used  any  time  in  the  last  twenty  years? 
Threats  there  had  been  in  plenty.  They  were 
the  spittings  of  that  inward  volcano  of  rage  of 
whose  existence  Fairfax  was  well  aware. 

"I  have  given  the  creature  cause  to  hate  me," 
he  confessed.  "That  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
fear  him.  He  is  a  coward  himself  at  heart." 

It  was,  however,  with  a  desperate  conscious- 
ness of  an  approaching  crisis  that  Fairfax  en- 
trusted to  Antonio  the  note  which  asked  a 
meeting  of  the  man  whom  he  had  spent  the 
ingenuity  of  years  in  successfully  avoiding.  It 
was  an  act  which  he  already  regretted.  Why 
had  he  not  left  Casa  Blanca  as  secretly  as  he 
had  come,  joining  his  daughter  and  making  his 
way  to  the  harbor,  where  the  ocean  offered  him 
a  wide  refuge?  It  was  not  yet  too  late  to  do 
this.  A  horse  could  be  hired  in  the  village  to 
replace  the  weary  animal  that  had  brought  him 
over  the  mountains.  He  could  not  recall  his 
note,  but  Jennings  might  visit  the  gold  mine 
on  a  fruitless  quest.  More  than  once  he  placed 
his  hand  upon  the  door-knob,  meaning  to  make 
good  his  retreat,  but  something  held  him  back. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  latent  instinct  of  the  man 

of  honor  who  can  not  turn  his  back  upon  a  foe. 

Fairfax  had  long  since  lost  the  finer  qualities  of 

the  soul.     He  had  squandered  his  best  endow- 

133 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ments.  Even  his  courage  had  yielded  to  the 
base  alarms  that  are  the  consequence  of  guilt. 
But  some  premonition  told  him  that  he  stood  in 
the  last  ditch.  He  must  conquer  or  yield  to 
ignominy.  He  wished  to  face  the  worst  from 
very  impatience  of  the  threat  of  it;  and  he 
hoped  against  hope  that  he  should  once  more 
have  the  upper  hand,  once  more  prove  himself 
more  fertile  in  resource  than  the  lesser  mind 
that  had  opposed  him. 

It  was  both  pain  and  pleasure  to  him  to  spend 
this  time  in  a  room  which  Dolly  had  lately  in- 
habited, tracing  the  tokens  of  her  dainty  pres- 
ence. How  he  loved  her ;  how  every  wish  and 
purpose  in  life  was  bound  up  in  her ;  how  he 
prayed  day  and  night  for  the  chance  to  live  and 
die  unsullied  in  her  thought  of  him !  He  did 
not  fear  God's  judgment;  he  shrank  only  from 
that  judgment  day  when  Dorothea  should  know 
him  as  he  was. 

At  last  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  long- 
forgotten  days  and  scenes  known  in  childhood ; 
and  thought  that  he  felt  his  mother's  kiss  upon 
his  forehead. 


134 


CHAPTER    IX 

Antonio  had  much  to  do  before  he  could 
think  of  rest.  He  must  cross  the  mountains  to 
Leona,  he  must  confront  Marco,  win  the  elec- 
tion, and  be  back  in  time  to  keep  his  promise  to 
Mr.  Fairfax. 

He  was  weary  enough  before  he  reached  his 
destination ;  but  this  he  would  not  acknowledge 
to  himself.  The  chaparral  that  defended  the 
slopes  like  chevaux-de-frise  did  not  discourage 
him.  He  glided  sinuously  through  the  thickets ; 
or,  swinging  himself  over  the  cliffs,  took  the 
more  open  courses  of  the  mountain  streams, 
long  since  shrunken  from  their  places,  and 
leaving  their  boulder -strewn  pathways  bare. 

The  fiesta  grounds  at  Leona  were  well  chosen 
on  a  grassy  plateau,  and  for  the  temporary 
accommodation  of  the  revellers  the  men  had 
built  a  village  of  brush  houses,  those  idyllic 
sylvan  huts,  which  an  Indian  with  an  ax  and  a 
forest  at  hand  can  construct  at  will  almost  as 
readily  as  the  Arab  pitches  his  tent. 

The  uprights  are  firm  and  strong.  The  walls 
and  roofs  are  of  green  wattled  boughs.  The 
135 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

sunshine  falls  through  the  interstices  with  a 
subdued  light,  as  if  it  came  through  stained- 
glass  windows.  A  few  boards  make  tables  and 
chairs ;  blankets  furnish  a  bed ;  and  in  such  a 
hut,  beneath  such  a  sky,  the  world-worn  pessi- 
mist might  forget  his  cares  and  learn  new  joy 
in  living. 

Since  it  was  not  yet  noon,  and  the  night's 
potations  had  been  heavy,  most  of  the  men  were 
within  doors  sleeping  off  their  excesses.  The 
women,  whose  superior  moral  qualities  enabled 
them  to  continue  the  orderly  conduct  of  affairs, 
ignoring  the  dereliction  of  their  spouses,  were 
abroad  washing  garments  in  the  brook,  carrying 
water,  and  chopping  firewood  for  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  noonday  meal.  Marta  met  Antonio 
with  a  cry  of  delight. 

"Do  you  bring  good  news?"  she  asked. 

"Good  news,"  he  answered.  "The  amount 
of  the  bonds  has  been  raised,  and  we  shall  have 
a  new  hearing  of  our  case." 

Marta  carried  the  tidings  from  hut  to  hut. 
Several  of  the  younger  men  roused  themselves 
and  followed  her  to  learn  from  Antonio  the 
details  of  his  success. 

"I  suppose  you  are  counting  on  our  promise 
to  you,"  said  Felipe,  who  buttoned  up  his  coat 
to  conceal  the  loss  of  his  watch  and  chain, 
136 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

which  flaunted  openly  on  the  red  blouse  of 
Manuel. 

"Yes,"  said  Antonio,  "and  I  had  counted  on 
your  promise  not  to  gamble.  You  have  been 
playing  peon  last  night." 

"And  what  if  we  did  play  peon?"  retorted 
Felipe,  with  the  pugnacity  born  of  the  after- 
effects of  bad  whiskey.  "You  are  not  the  one 
who  shall  stop  us.  And  Diego  said  that  if  you 
had  been  here  you  would  not  have  wanted  us  to 
dance  the  catamount  dance.  You  are  a  white 
man  at  heart,  that  is  what  is  the  matter  with 
you.  You  are  a  white  man,  and  you  are  in  love 
with  a  white  girl.  I  have  heard  from  those 
that  ought  to  know." 

Fire  flamed  in  Antonio's  eyes.  "What  did 
you  hear?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  that  awed 
Felipe^  in  spite  of  himself.  "Tell  me,"  he 
commanded. 

"It  was  Marco,  who  heard  it  at  Jennings 's 
saloon,"  said  Felipe,  in  a  surly  tone.  "Miss 
Bessie  Wilson  was  talking  to  Jennings  in  the 
store.  She  was  angry  because  Mr.  Burke  rode 
like  mad  after  the  stage  you  went  in,  and  Jen- 
nings, who  hates  Burke,  was  questioning  her  as 
to  what  made  him  do  it.  He  would  not  believe 
her  when  she  said  that  he  was  in  love  with  Miss 
Dolly  Fairfax.  'Oh,  no,'  said  Jennings,  'she 
137 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

has  a  red  man  for  a  lover,  that  precious  sneak 
Lachusa,  who  is  trying  to  fool  the  Indians  by 
playing  white  man  and  red  man  both.  She's 
no  better  than  she  should  be,  and  he's  good 
enough  for  her. ' '  ' 

The  world  spun  round  before  Antonio's  vis- 
ion. The  blood  sang  in  his  ears.  It  was  well 
for  Samuel  Jennings  that  he  was  thirty  miles 
away. 

Felipe  shrank  away  affrighted.  "It  was  not 
I  who  said  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  told  me 
to  tell  you  of  it." 

Antonio  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  came. 
"Yes,  I  told  you  to  tell  me,"  he  repeated.  "I 
did  not  guess  that  I  must  hear  that  reptile's 
lies.  Well,  Felipe,  ask  Diego  to  sound  the  call 
for  the  voting.  I  will  make  a  speech  before  it 
begins." 

"There  are  two  other  candidates,"  said 
Felipe.  "Marco  has  put  up  a  man,  since  he 
can  not  run  himself — Diego's  son,  Carlos." 

"A  half-witted  drunkard — no  one  will  vote 
for  him,"  remarked  Antonio.  "Who  is  the 
other?" 

Felipe  hesitated.  "I  never  break  a  promise, 
and  I  will  vote  for  you,"  he  said.  "I  could  not 
prevent  it  that  the  others  put  up  my  name." 

Antonio  laughed  loudly.  "Eeally,  Felipe," 
138 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

he  said,  "I  could  almost  believe  that  you  had 
lived  among  the  white  men  and  learned  their 
notions  of  political  honor." 

Felipe  went  off  with  a  lowering  brow,  and 
Diego,  at  his  request,  brought  out  the  flat  stave 
of  seasoned  wood  attached  to  a  twisted  thong, 
which,  by  rapid  whirling  in  a  practiced  hand, 
produces  a  dull,  resonant  vibration,  unlike  any 
other  sound  in  nature  or  art — the  most  effectual 
summons  to  a  gathering.  Sleepy  men  tumbled 
forth  into  the  sunshine.  Marco,  wide-awake 
and  alert  as  ever,  came  smiling  at  the  followers 
by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  Carlos,  his 
dummy,  was  in  his  usual  state  of  silent 
inebriety,  and  sure  to  commit  himself  to  noth- 
ing, either  for  or  against  his  interests. 

"He  is  a  safe  man,"  Marco  declared.  "He 
knows  more  drunk  than  half  the  others  sober. 
He  will  never  interfere  with  your  right  as  free 
men  to  gamble  if  you  choose.  You  may  be 
sure  of  that." 

This  argument  was  well  thought  of,  nothing 
being  so  dear  to  the  heart  as  the  favorite  game 
of  peon.  But  Felipe's  adherents  suggested  that 
he  also  had  no  prejudices,  and  yet  was  a  more 
decent  man  to  represent  the  interests  of  the 
tribe.  The  conservatives  were  in  favor  of 
Felipe.  The  hot-heads  would  vote  for  Carlos. 
139 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Antonio's  chances  seemed  reduced  to  the  num- 
ber of  those  who  had  promised  him  their  sup- 
port beneath  the  oak-tree.  He  was  sure  of 
them,  for  an  Indian  never  breaks  his  word. 

Antonio  realized  the  situation  at  a  glance, 
but  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  disturbed  by 
it.  The  people  of  the  tribe,  who  had  gathered 
together  from  a  radius  of  fifty  miles,  were  pre- 
pared to  listen  to  him  with  the  stolid  attention 
which  discloses  nothing  of  its  purpose  till  the 
time  is  ripe  for  action.  Marco  was  the  only  one 
who  betrayed  his  antagonism  to  the  speaker  by 
his  gestures  of  dissent  or  impatience. 

Antonio  mounted  upon  an  empty  cart  which 
stood  disused  in  the  centre  of  the  level  sward, 
and  turned  to  face  his  audience,  a  stern  excite- 
ment thrilling  his  nerves.  It  had  been  one  of 
his  youthful  dreams  (an  ambition  that  haunted 
him  no  less  for  his  realization  of  its  futility)  to 
stand  one  day  on  the  floor  of  Congress,  with  a 
nation's  future  depending  upon  the  impulse  his 
choice  might  give  the  swinging  balance,  a  hush 
of  breathless  suspense  about  him,  the  listening 
throng  hanging  eagerly  upon  his  words. 

The    sunbeams   quivered    through  the    oak 

leaves   and  fell  upon   his   head;    the  tall  dry 

grasses  rustled  in  the  wind.     The  empty  mesas 

stretched  on   either   side   and  lost   themselves 

140 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

among  the  desolate  hills ;  but  even  here  there 
was  a  theatre  for  human  thought  and  action,  a 
first  step  to  be  made  in  the  path  of  his  ambi- 
tion. 

What  he  spoke  he  could  not  recollect,  for  no 
stenographer  recorded  the  words  that  sprang 
burning  to  his  lips,  words  of  wit  and  grace,  of 
irony  and  persuasive  eloquence,  of  pathos  and 
of  power.  He  pleaded  the  lessons  of  the  past, 
the  hopes  of  the  future,  the  wide  horizons  that 
lie  beyond  the  individual  life,  the  duty  to  the 
tribe,  to  the  race,  to  the  ideal. 

The  old  men  listened  in  attitudes  of  non- 
committal deliberation.  The  young  men  stood 
tense,  alert,  resisting.  Antonio  felt  a  stricture 
at  his  throat.  Was  he  alone  among  his  tribe? 
isolated  by  his  elevation  above  their  thoughts 
and  sympathies?  He  felt  the  strong  ties  of 
blood  and  kindred,  and  was  ready  to  give  his 
life  for  their  advancement ;  but  they  held  aloof 
in  the  suspicion  which  ignorance  bears  to  knowl- 
edge. They  doubted  his  enthusiasms,  and 
questioned  his  motives. 

He  continued  his  address  by  descending  from 
the  general  to  the  particular,  explaining  his 
projects  for  the  future; — how  the  borax  mine 
might  be  exploited,  how  a  university  might  be 
founded  to  supplement  the  education  of  the 
141 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

government  school.  He  was  ready  to  be  its 
teacher.  His  time  and  knowledge  were  at  their 
service.  All  that  he  asked  was  confidence, 
co-operation,  and  the  power  to  test  the  prac- 
ticability of  his  schemes. 

He  told  them  simple  stories  of  his  daily  life, 
touching  recollections  of  his  childhood.  He 
referred  to  the  folk-lore  of  the  tribe,  finding  a 
meaning  in  their  myths,  a  prophecy  in  their 
sacred  hymns.  Poetry,  religion,  family  love 
were  themes  he  touched  upon  as  a  harper  tries 
his  instrument,  string  by  string. 

He  paused  and  looked  about  among  his  audi- 
tors. How  far  had  he  conquered  their  preju- 
dices? To  test  the  question  he  beckoned  to  one 
of  the  younger  men  who  stood  with  an  uplifted 
intelligent  face  in  the  front  rank  of  the  spec- 
tators. 

"What  have  you  decided,  Samuel?"  he 
asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "Do  you  believe  what  I 
have  told  you?  Do  you  mean  to  give  me  your 
vote?" 

"You  speak  well,  Antonio,"  was  the  reply. 
"But  Marco  speaks  well,  too.  It  is  all  words — 
words.  Felipe  is  the  man  for  me." 

Marco  in  the  background  was  already  clamor- 
ing for  a  hearing.  Antonio  waved  his  hand  and 
demanded  silence. 

142 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Only  a  word  and  I  have  done,"  he  said. 
"You  have  heard  me  patiently,  but  you  doubt 
and  hesitate.  You  are  not  ready  to  follow 
me,  for  you  think  I  lead  you  in  uncertain 
paths." 

Silence  gave  assent. 

"Then  let  me  recommend  a  Captain  who  is 
the  man  to  suit  you;  not  Marco's  cat's-paw,  not 
a  drunken  reprobate,  but  a  young,  true,  strong 
man,  who  has  grown  up  with  you  from  child- 
hood, one  whom  you  know  and  trust.  I  refer 
to  my  friend,  Felipe  Curo,  and  I  herewith  with- 
draw my  own  in  favor  of  his  nomination,  and 
beg  that  it  may  be  made  unanimous. " 

He  had  touched  at  last  a  sympathetic  chord. 
The  suddenness  of  the  surprise,  the  generosity 
of  this  appeal,  won  the  quick  appreciation  of  his 
hearers.  The  younger  men  cheered;  the  older 
men  nodded  approval.  Marco  mounted  the 
rostrum  and  tried  to  speak ;  but  was  dragged 
and  hustled  from  the  field.  Carlos  followed 
him,  offering  consolation  from  the  inevitable 
bottle.  A  circle  was  formed,  the  votes  were 
cast,  and  without  a  dissenting  voice  Felipe  was 
chosen  Captain  of  the  tribe. 

Antonio  entered  the  ramada  which  his  cousin 
Manuel  had  built,  and  stretching  himself  in  a 
corner  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 
143 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"He  has  not  slept  for  two  days  and  nights," 
explained  Marta,  and  she  came  and  sat  beside 
him,  and  insisted  on  his  eating  a  portion  of  a 
sayory  stew,  redolent  of  garlic,  before  she  would 
leave  him  to  repose.  When  she  had  gone  Felipe 
entered,  and  crouching  in  sitting  posture  upon 
his  heels  near  Antonio  he  asked  in  a  low  voice : 
"What  did  you  do  it  for?  Are  you  angry  with 
me?  Do  you  believe  me  to  be  a  traitor?" 

"No,  you  are  a  good  fellow,  and  will  make  a 
good  Captain.  I  did  it  to  defeat  Marco,  unite 
the  tribe,  and  snatch  success  out  of  the  jaws  of 
failure.  For,  after  all,  Felipe,  the  real  success 
is  not  always  the  personal  success,  and  no  one 
can  rise  very  high  in  this  world  who  can  not 
adapt  himself  to  circumstances,  and  yield  in 
view  of  future  gain." 

Felipe  held  out  his  hand.  "I  am  your 
friend,"  he  said.  "You  know  more  than  any 
of  us.  You  have  a  brain;  so  have  I;  but  yours 
is  trained  and  supple  as  a  wrestler's  muscles; 
mine  is  rusty  and  slow.  If  you  will  help  me 
with  your  advice,  Antonio,  I  will  do  my  best  to 
carry  out  your  plans.  And  I  came  to  tell  you 
that  if  you  will  be  Judge  I  will  nominate  you, 
and  you  can  be  elected." 

"I  had  thought  of  that,"  answered  Antonio, 
"but  I  would  rather  take  no  office  now.  I  am 
144 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

young,  and  have  plenty  of  time   before  me. 
Another  year  it  may  be  different." 

His  smile  was  bright,  his  look  determined. 
Felipe  watched  him  with  growing  admiration. 
Education  indeed  was  good.  Felipe  also  sus- 
pected that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  native 
endowment  which  education  can  supplement 
but  can  not  supply. 

Antonio  slept  in  the  midst  of  the  noisy  gaiety 
of  the  fiesta,  in  a  hut  where  men  and  women, 
children  and  dogs  had  free  ingress  and  egress, 
where  the  noonday  meal  was  cooked  and  served, 
and  plans  were  discussed  for  the  evening's 
festivities.  Marta  had  promised  to  wake  him, 
and  at  the  appointed  hour  she  bent  over  him, 
reluctant  to  break  his  heavy  slumber. 

A  neighbor's  daughter  followed  her  and  stood 
with  her  at  Antonio's  side.  "Is  he  not  muy 
bonito?"  she  exclaimed.  "He  is  the  handsom- 
est man  in  the  tribe,  and  still  unmarried.  I 
wonder,  Marta,  if  he  will  dance  with  me 
to-night." 

Marta  flung  her  a  sidelong  look  of  scorn. 
"You  are  not  the  only  girl  who  is  sighing  for 
Antonio,"  she  said,  "but  all  may  sigh  in  vain. 
He  is  as  ambitious  as  a  prince.  Some  day  he 
will  be  Captain,  if  not  to-day.  He  has  a  great 
future  before  him." 

145 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

uWho  will  he  marry?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Why  should  he  marry  any  one?"  said 
Marta.  "Some  men  are  great  enough  not  to 
care  for  women." 

"But  that  is  a  pity,"  sighed  her  companion. 
"A  man  with  such  a  mouth,  and  such  eyes, 
with  a  straight  nose  like  a  white  man,  and 
strong  as  a  lion " 

"Oh,  begone!"  cried  Marta.  "You  would 
sicken  him  if  he  could  hear  you.  Go  make  up 
to  Carlos.  He  has  no  wife.  I  am  going  to 
wake  my  brother  now,  and  he  is  not  going  to 
stay  for  the  dance.  He  has  business  at  home. ' ' 

Antonio  awoke  at  her  call  and  sprang  at  once 
to  his  feet,  finding  that  he  had  barely  time  for 
the  return.  As  he  hastened  on  his  way  he 
turned  more  than  once  to  look  back  at  Marta, 
and  to  wave  his  hand  in  response  to  her  hand- 
kerchief, which  fluttered  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 


146 


CHAPTER  X 

Antonio  reached  the  store  just  as  Jennings 
descended  from  his  carriage  at  the  door.  At 
his  approach  the  postmaster  started  and  shrank 
away  with  the  sudden  flinching  of  the  coward, 
ever  ready  with  suspicion. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  in  a  loud, 
surly  voice,  which  interested  the  loungers  on  the 
steps. 

"Here  is  a  note  which  I  was  asked  to  hand 
you,"  replied  Antonio,  presenting  the  missive. 

Jennings  took  it  with  a  swaggering  air,  tore  it 
open  and  read  the  words  written  on  the  card. 
His  face  changed  quickly  from  surprised  appre- 
hension to  a  vindictive  delight. 

"All  right,  I'll  be  there.  Was  that  what  you 
were  to  tell  him?  Where  is  he,  by  the  way?" 

Antonio  gave  no  sign  of  comprehension.  "I 
was  to  give  you  the  note,"  he  said. 

"Well,  curse  yon,  you  have  done  it.  If  he's 
hiding  about  here  tell  him  I'm  ready  for  him 
anywhere  and  at  any  time,  but  perhaps  it  is  just 
as  well  our  first  interview  should  be  without 
witnesses." 

147 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  smiled,  showing  the  pointed  edges  of  his 
teeth.  "I'll  come  to  the  place  he  appoints," 
he  added,  and,  springing  into  the  store,  he  went 
to  his  desk,  from  which  he  took  a  couple  of 
folded  papers  and  a  pair  of  revolvers,  depositing 
these  in  the  inner  and  outer  pockets  of  his  coat. 
Antonio  saw  the  action,  and  went  at  his  swiftest 
stride  to  the  school-house,  where  Fairfax  was 
watching  for  him  in  a  fever  of  impatience. 

"Mr.  Jennings  is  back,  and  will  meet  you 
immediately  at  the  mine,"  said  Antonio. 
"Perhaps  you  would  better  let  me  keep  near 
you.  Mr.  Jennings  is  sheriff  of  the  district. 
Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  he  always  carries  a 
loaded  revolver." 

Fan-fax  blenched  and  trembled.  "Sheriff!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief!" 

His  trepidation  was  so  evident  that  Antonio 
repeated  his  offer.  Fairfax  looked  at  him  with 
quick  suspicion. 

"An  Indian  spy  lurking  within  earshot !  No, 
indeed!  Perhaps  you  are  in  Jennings 's  pay." 

Antonio  made  no  reply.  His  face  spoke  for 
him. 

"Show  me  the  way  as  quickly  as  you  can," 
commanded  Fairfax.  "There  is  a  bill  for  you. 
Keep  out  of  the  way,  then,  till  I  have  done 
with  him." 

148 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  wish  no  money,"  said  Antonio.  "I  am  in 
no  man's  pay,  but  I  will  do  anything  I  can  to 
oblige  you." 

"Well,  make  haste,"  cried  Fairfax.  "I'd 
like  to  get  there  first." 

"I  will  take  you  by  a  short  cut,"  replied 
Antonio,  and  with  the  elder  man  pushing 
breathlessly  after  he  descended  the  slope  of  the 
canon  and  came  upon  the  site  of  the  gold 
mine;  then,  at  Fairfax's  repeated  command,  he 
retreated  to  a  distance,  leaving  him  alone. 

Fairfax  approached  the  entrance  of  an  aban- 
doned stamping-mill,  whose  door  hung  on  one 
hinge,  while  dust  and  rust  invaded  the  motion- 
less machinery  within.  He  walked  across  to 
the  power-house,  and  looked  down  the  shaft, 
which  was  half -full  of  water,  while  the  iron  cage 
lay  on  its  side  half-detached  from  a  broken 
cable.  He  picked  up  a  piece  of  ore  which  was 
at  his  feet,  and  examined  it  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur. 

"It  is  not  exactly  like  the  samples  which  were 
sent  me,"  he  said,  smiling  grimly. 

As  he  turned  he  came  face  to  face  upon  the 
postmaster,  who  swaggered  up  to  him,  his  hat 
pushed  down  upon  his  head,  and  his  hands  deep 
in  the  pockets  of  his  coat. 

"Well,  Teddy,  we  meet  again,"  he  said. 
149 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"Have  you  come  to  examine  your  new  property? 
I  hope  you  find  it  in  good  shape." 

' 4  Quite  as  good  as  I  should  have  expected  if 
I  had  known  that  you  were  concerned  in  the 
sale." 

"Oh,  I  have  laid  low,"  said  Jennings,  with  a 
loud  guffaw.  "I  am  a  sleeping  partner  here. 
I  have  done  pretty  well  since  you  last  saw  me. 
I  have  taken  to  a  legitimate  business,  and 
married  a  rich  man's  daughter.  But  how  goes 
it  with  you,  Teddy?  You  paid  up  well  for  the 
mine.  It  was  cash  we  were  after.  'A  valuable 
mine  of  high-grade  ore,  with  an  exhaustless 
ledge  in  the  heart  of  the  gold-bearing  mountains 
of  California.'  How  does  it  run?" 

"Drop  that, "said  Fairfax.  "The  mine  is 
sold,  and  so  am  I." 

Jennings  laughed  till  the  tears  stood  in  his 


"You  can  appreciate  the  beauty  of  it  so  well," 
he  said.  "You  have  so  often  done  the  thing 
yourself.  The  biter  is  bit  with  a  vengeance. 
Well,  to  business.  You  knew  I  was  here  when 
you  arrived.  I  meant  that  it  should  be  a  sur- 
prise, a  pleasant  surprise  to  you.  But  I  am 
ready  for  you  either  way.  What  are  your  pres- 
ent intentions?" 

"I  am  waiting  to  hear  yours, "  replied  Fairfax. 
150 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Then  we  may  as  well  come  at  once  to  the 
point,"  said  Jennings,  pressing  closer  to  him. 
Fairfax  had  his  hand  upon  the  butt  of  his 
revolver  as  it  rested  in  his  belt,  but  his  com- 
panion had  not  appeared  to  notice  it.  Now  he 
continued  in  a  drawling  voice,  "I  wish  to  re- 
mark, Teddy,  that  I've  got  the  drop  on  you. 
I  have  a  revolver  in  each  side  coat  pocket.  My 
finger  is  on  the  trigger,  and  the  muzzle  is  press- 
ing against  your  side.  Stand  perfectly  still, 
please,  and  oblige  me  by  throwing  that  pretty 
little  weapon  of  yours  down  on  the  grass  there, 
where  it  will  be  out  of  reach.  Is  that  all  you 
have  about  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fairfax,  with  a  gasp  of  angry 
desperation.  "I  don't  go  doubly  armed  as 
cowards  must." 

"I  have  to,  you  know,"  said  Jennings,  con- 
fidentially. "It  is  in  the  way  of  business.  I 
am  sheriff  here,  Teddy.  Perhaps  you  did  not 
know  what  a  great  man  I  am,  and  thought  me 
only  a  country  store-keeper.  My  father-in-law 
got  me  the  place.  It  is  convenient  in  my  deal- 
ings with  the  Indians.  We  have  some  lively 
times  here,  and  I  must  confess  when  I  tried  for 
the  place  I  was  thinking  a  little  of  you.  I  don't 
forget  old  pals,  even  when  they  have  betrayed 


151 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"For  God's  sake,  stop  your  talk  and  tell  me 
what  you  want,"  said  Fairfax.  "You  are  hold- 
ing me  up  for  something,  I  suppose." 

"We  are  coming  to  that,"  said  Jennings. 
"Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  If  my  hands  were  not 
occupied  I  could  show  you  a  document  I  have 
had  ready  ever  since  I  had  reason  to  expect  yoii 
at  Casa  Blanca.  It  is  on  an  old  count,  but  it  is 
not  yet  out  of  date.  I  have  seen  to  that.  It  is 
a  warrant  for  your  arrest  on  the  charge  of 
murder." 

Fairfax  had  trembled  like  a  leaf,  but  he  now 
recovered  himself. 

"That  is  absurd,"  he  said.  "I  can  not  be 
held  for  that." 

"There  are  other  charges — forgery,  con- 
spiracy and  the  like — which  I  could  have  used 
as  well,"  said  Jennings,  "but  there  is  more  red 
tape  about  their  execution,  and  they  can  be 
brought  up  if  this  fails;  but  you  can't  get  off, 
I  tell  you.  The  old  book-keeper,  you  know, 
was  found  gagged  and  half -strangled,  and  he 
died  of  the  injuries  a  week  after  the  bank  was 
robbed.  I  proved  my  innocence  of  that,  but 
you  fastened  the  robbery  on  me,  and  got  off 
through  your  father's  connivance,  while  I  was 
put  behind  the  bars.  I  owe  you  something  for 
that;  and  I've  waited  till  I  could  pay  the  debt. 
152 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Now  I  think  I  can  do  it  handsomely.  For 
some  time  I  was  not  at  liberty  to  carry  on 
detective  work,  and  when  I  got  out  my  effects 
were  scattered.  It  took  me  several  years  to 
recover  a  letter  you  wrote  me  the  day  of  the 
robbery.  You  knew  the  letter  never  reached 
me,  and  you  thought  my  sister  had  destroyed 
it.  She  did  a  good  many  things  for  your  sake, 
but  she  kept  that  for  mine.  You  remember 
the  contents  of  the  letter.  You  asked  me  to  go 
early  to  the  bank  and  unbind  the  old  man. 
You  had  had  to  hit  him  harder  than  you 
meant.  He  fought  like  a  tiger.  You  feared 
the  effect  might  be  fatal.  Oh,  it  is  all  there  in 
black  and  white,  proving  that  you  struck  the 
fatal  blow,  proving  that  your  testimony  against 
me  was  perjury,  proving  that  I  was  the  victim 
of  conspiracy.  There  is  mighty  little  that 
precious  letter  does  not  prove.  I  would  not 
part  with  it  for  the  price  you  paid  for  the 
Bonanza  mine  twice  over." 

Fairfax  reeled  like  a  drunken  man. 

"Now,  all  I  ask  is  this,"  continued  Jennings. 
"Walk  quietly  along  beside  me  in  just  this 
position.  March  up  to  the  store  and  place 
yourself  in  the  carriage  I  have  ready  for  you. 
My  men  will  drive  you  to  the  station,  and  to- 
morrow you  will  be  comfortably  lodged  in  town 
153 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

at  the  expense  of  the  state  till  we  can  bring 
your  affairs  to  the  attention  of  the  authorities  in 
New  York.  I  won't  make  a  scene  if  you  won't. 
I  won't  even  clap  the  handcuffs  on  you,  as  I 
have  a  right  to." 

Fairfax  groaned  like  a  baited  bull.  He 
suddenly  remembered  Dorothea,  and  desper- 
ation shook  his  soul.  He  cringed  to  his 
enemy. 

"Let  me  off  this  time,  Jennings,"  he  said, 
with  half  a  sob.  "I'll  pay  yon  well.  You've 
earned  all  you  care  to  ask.  You're  a  clever 
fellow,  but  you  can't  make  much  out  of  this 
thing,  unless  you've  done  it  as  a  bluff,  and  want 
a  ransom.  I'll  give  you  all  I  have." 

"That's  handsome,  but  won't  go  down," 
replied  Jennings.  "I  want  exactly  what  I've 
got — the  chance  for  revenge.  Do  you  think  a 
man  is  a  log  of  wood  to  spend  years  in  a  state 
prison  on  a  false  charge  without  being  willing 
to  sell  his  soul  for  revenge?" 

"You  know  you  were  not  an  innocent  man," 
said  Fairfax.  "You  contrived  the  robbery  and 
I  executed  it.  I  was  your  tool, ' ' 

"And  now  you  are  my  prisoner,"  said  Jen- 
nings drily.  "I'm  getting  tired  of  this.  Please 
walk  along  in  the  direction  of  the  store.  It  is 
necessary  that  I  should  keep  my  position,  and 
154 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

keep  the  drop  on  you ;   but  I  don't  want  to  be 
obliged  to  hurry  your  steps." 

Fairfax  obeyed,  and  the  two  men  proceeded 
at  a  leisurely  pace  down  the  uneven  rocky  road, 
long  disused  and  washed  into  deep  gullies  by 
the  winter  storms.  Fairfax  felt  the  tortures  of 
the  damned.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  the  extrem- 
est  penalty  of  the  law  which  daunted  him, 
but  fear  of  the  look  which  he  must  meet  in 
Dorothea's  eyes,  and  the  consciousness  of  the 
grief  and  desolation  which  must  overwhelm  her. 

Jennings  held  his  right  hand  with  its  weapon 
still  in  his  pocket  pressed  close  against  Fair- 
fax's side.  He  had  drawn  the  other  revolver 
from  his  pocket,  and  held  it  tightly  in  his 
grasp,  but  he  kept  a  constant  watch  upon  his 
prisoner,  seeming  to  fear  him  even  in  his  dis- 
armed condition.  Fairfax  walked  along  as  if 
oblivious  to  outward  circumstance,  but  in  reality 
he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  slightest  detail  of  his 
position.  Every  sense  was  sharpened  to  a 
preternatural  acuteness.  He  observed  that,  as 
the  difficulties  of  the  path  increased,  Jennings 
found  it  impossible  to  preserve  his  attitude,  and 
relaxing  the  intensity  of  his  precautions,  he 
covered  his  prisoner  with  the  weapon  held  in  his 
left  hand,  while  he  attempted  to  disengage  the 
other  from  his  pocket.  At  the  same  time,  a 
155 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

jagged  boulder  caught  his  foot  and  caused  him 
to  stumble  forward. 

It  was  the  moment  Fairfax  had  awaited. 
With  the  rapidity  of  a  tiger  that  leaps  upon  its 
prey,  he  drew  a  slender  Spanish  stiletto  from 
the  sheath  which  hung  unobserved  at  his  side 
beneath  his  coat,  and  bending,  struck  his 
enemy  in  the  neck  at  the  very  instant  of  his 
forward  movement ;  and  before  Jennings  could 
recover  his  momentary  loss  of  balance  he  was 
overborne  by  the  fury  of  the  attack,  and  fell 
face  downward  on  the  dusty  ground.  The 
useless  weapon  dropped  from  his  nerveless 
hand.  Fan-fax  bent  over  him  and  stirred  him 
with  his  foot,  taunting  him;  but  no  groan 
escaped  him,  no  muscle  quivered. 

"It  is  not  possible,"  said  Fairfax,  half -aloud, 
"I  can  not  have  killed  him  in  a  second  like 
that." 

He  stooped  and  lifted  the  inert  form,  rolling 
it  over  upon  the  sward  by  the  roadside. 

Jennings  was  dead,  with  wide-open  eyes,  and 
lips  parted  as  if  to  speak.  He  had  died  so  sud- 
denly that  his  face  was  not  distorted  with  a  look 
of  pain.  In  an  instant,  from  a  breathing  man 
he  had  become  a  lifeless  image  of  clay. 

"It  was  fate  or  providence  that  guided  my 
stroke,"  thought  Fairfax. 
156 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  was  cool  and  stolid  in  the  moment  of  his 
great  escape.  He  fumbled  in  the  pockets  of 
the  corpse  until  he  found  the  warrant  and  the 
letter,  at  the  sight  of  which  he  exclaimed  in 
triumph:  "Yes,  it  was  the  hand  of  God.  He 
did  not  will  that  my  innocent  child  should 
suffer." 

He  tore  the  papers  into  tiny  fragments  and 
scattered  them  on  the  ground;  and  not  content 
with  this,  he  tramped  upon  them  and  buried 
them  with  his  heel,  as  if  he  feared  that  the 
wind  might  carry  them  abroad.  His  whole 
mind  was  concentrated  on  this  task.  He  felt 
that  he  must  throw  himself  heart  and  soul  into 
trifling  details  of  action,  to  avoid  the  lurking 
threat  of  fate.  But  he  could  not  avoid  it.  It 
came  with  the  sound  of  an  approaching  foot- 
step. Fairfax  looked  up  and  listened,  and  the 
cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  his  brow.  At  that 
instant  the  mark  of  Cain- was  set  upon  him,  and 
he  knew  himself  to  be  a  murderer. 

No  purpose  now  of  meeting  Dorothea;  no 
hope  of  exoneration ;  he  was  filled  with  a  selfish 
fear,  the  overpowering  dread  of  detection.  He 
looked  about  him  and  saw  no  ready  means  of 
escape.  The  roughly-made  road  ended  at  the 
gold  mine.  The  canon  was  a  cul-de-sac  in  the 
mountains.  The  slopes  were  steep  and  rocky. 
157 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

To  scale  the  open  rise  of  ground  was  to  make 
himself  a  target  for  observation.  He  thought 
of  taking  refuge  in  a  tunnel  of  the  mine,  but  as 
he  turned  and  stood  hesitating  the  newcomer 
was  upon  him.  It  was  the  Indian  who  had 
done  his  errand. 

Fairfax  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  An  impulse 
more  evil  than  that  which  had  guided  his  dag- 
ger, slid  into  his  mind.  The  Indian  was  alone 
and  without  witnesses.  He  was  by  the  impli- 
cation of  an  instinctive  race-prejudice  more  open 
to  suspicion  than  a  white  man.  Who  could 
prove  that  he  was  not  the  murderer? 

Fairfax  faced  the  horrified  look  in  Antonio's 
eyes  with  an  evil  smile.  He  pointed  to  the  pis- 
tols which  were  thrown  upon  the  grass. 

*  *  This  man  attempted  my  life, ' '  he  said.  * '  In 
self-defense  I  struck  him,  and  this  is  the 
result." 

Antonio  bent  over  the  form  of  his  dead 
enemy.  The  glassy  eyes  staring  up  at  him 
seemed  to  accuse  him  of  participation  in  the 
crime.  Antonio  had  an  inborn  respect  for  the 
dead.  He  stooped  and  closed  the  eyes  and 
straightened  the  limbs.  Then  he  looked  up 
at  Fairfax  with  quick  appreciation  of  his 
danger.  "Will  you  give  yourself  up?"  he 
inquired. 

158 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

" Shall  I  put  my  head  in  a  lion's  jaw?"  was 
the  answer.  "Do  you  mean  to  betray  me?" 

There  was  cruel  hostility  in  his  look.  He  had 
become  a  man  to  be  shunned  and  dreaded ;  but 
Antonio  remembered  only  that  he  was  Doro- 
thea's father. 

44 You  wish,  then,  to  make  your  escape,"  he 
said.  44The  main  road  runs  north  and  south 
at  the  foot  of  the  canon.  To  avoid  that  you 
must  climb  the  hill  to  the  west  where  you  see 
that  dry  watercourse,  and  by  following  its  lead 
you  will  reach  the  higher  mountain.  By  still 
continuing  westward  you  will  strike  the  stage- 
road  over  beyond  Leona." 

He  gave  these  directions  in  a  monotonous 
voice,  with  head  averted.  It  was  as  if  he  were 
making  a  compact  with  evil.  The  blood  which 
had  flowed  in  a  tiny  stream  from  the  neck  of 
the  murdered  man  had  made  a  bright  red  stain 
upon  the  flat  granite  rock  where  he  had  lain. 
Antonio  watched  it  as  if  fascinated.  Blood  thus 
shed  cries  aloud  for  vengeance,  and  he  was  aid- 
ing the  murderer  to  escape.  Fairfax  made  no 
further  delay.  To  his  strained  ears  it  seemed 
that  there  were  distant  voices  and  the  noise  of 
wheels.  He  fled  as  if  already  pursued,  and 
Antonio  was  left  alone  in  the  presence  of  the 
dead. 

159 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

His  head  swam,  and  his  limbs  trembled.  He 
sank  upon  a  rock  and  bent  his  head  upon  his 
hands.  He  was  weary  and  overworn,  and  this 
new  thing  had  struck  him  like  a  blow  upon  a 
vital  organ.  His  strength  was  gone. 

The  sky  of  a  sudden  had  become  overcast, 
and  the  wind,  which  blew  in  fitful  gusts,  had 
veered  from  the  sea,  and  now  came  from  the 
desert,  with  the  breath  of  a  furnace  and  the 
tension  of  imprisoned  electricities.  This  desert 
wind,  like  the  Fohn  wind  of  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains, shrivels  the  herbage,  sends  the  wild  beast 
panting  to  his  lair,  and  makes  the  heart  of  man 
weary  as  he  lags  at  work. 

Antonio  thought  of  Dorothea  with  a  keen 
pang  of  apprehension.  The  shadow  of  sin 
must  fall  upon  her  innocent  head.  A  mur- 
derer's child,  the  daughter  of  a  felon,  she  would 
be  an  outcast  from  that  world  which  was  her 
lawful  place.  She  would  know,  as  Antonio's 
people  did,  what  it  is  to  stand  outside  the  gates 
of  happy  humanity,  to  see  honors,  dignity  and 
the  applause  of  men  placed  out  of  reach  behind 
barriers  as  impalpable  as  air,  yet  as  strong  as 
steel.  A  hundred  shafts  of  scorn  would  fall 
upon  her  heart,  not  hardened  like  Antonio's  to 
suffer  them  in  patience. 

Upon  this  a  flash  of  thought  revealed  to  him, 
160 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

that,  for  the  first  time,  the  practical  aspects  of 
life  were  allied  upon  the  side  of  his  love  and 
hope.  He  had  believed  that  he  might  win 
Dorothea's  heart,  now  it  seemed  possible  that 
he  might  honor  rather  than  dishonor  her  by 
offering  her  protection  as  his  wife. 

He  was  sure  that  Burke,  the  ambitious  law- 
yer, proud  of  his  family,  hating  the  unconven- 
tional, would  never  love  so  blindly  as  to  wed 
even  the  remote  implication  of  disgrace.  Doro- 
thea, then,  must  stand  alone,  unless  she  would 
accept  that  adoring  affection  which  should  make 
the  thorny  places  blossom  with  the  rose  of 
passion,  and  crown  her  like  a  queen  with  wor- 
ship such,  as  few  men  know  or  give. 

Antonio  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stretched  his 
arms  into  the  air,  a  blissful  smile  upon  his  lips. 
Is  not  that  life  complete  which  can  count  one 
fair  and  radiant  moment,  even  though  it  can 
not  bid  it  stay? 

Two  men  came  hurrying  up  the  canon. 
Antonio  recognized  them  as  Jennings 's  clerks. 
They  saw  him,  and  they  saw  the  body  of  the 
murdered  man,  and  Antonio  read  his  future  in 
the  look  that  leaped  into  their  eyes. 

The  first  impulse  of  a  tremendous  emotion 
with  men  of  a  certain  class  is  towards  blas- 
phemy. Both  men  swore  in  a  breath  as  they 
161 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

bent  above  the  motionless  form  lying  in  its 
blood.  Both  by  a. common  purpose  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  unresisting  Indian,  overwhelm- 
ing him  with  curses.  There  was  still  time  for 
Antonio  to  declare  the  murderer  and  to  point  to 
his  detection,  for  Fairfax's  unpracticed  feet 
were  slipping  on  the  loose  boulders  of  the  pain- 
ful path  that  led  him  upwards.  An  agile  pur- 
suit would  easily  have  overtaken  him.  The 
weapon,  which  remained  wedged  in  the  joint 
where  it  had  dealt  the  fatal  blow,  would  have 
sufficed  for  his  conviction,  since  he  wore  the 
sheath  which  fitted  it.  Antonio's  quick  wit 
realized  this  and  more;  but  an  instinct  of 
fidelity  led  him  to  keep  silence.  Let  the 
consequences  be  what  they  might,  he  could  not 
betray  Dorothea's  father. 

The  men,  surprised  at  his  immobility,  found 
their  task  an  easier  one  than  they  had  hoped. 
The  young  Samson  of  his  tribe  could  readily 
have  broken  their  improvised  bonds.  Resist- 
ance at  the  first  moment  would  have  been 
effectual ;  but  in  the  next  each  man  had  pos- 
sessed himself  of  a  revolver,  and,  strong  in 
bravado,  presented  it  on  either  side  of  the  pris- 
oner's head,  urging  him  brutally  forward. 

It  was  only  a  mile  to  the  village,  and  in  this 
distance  ill  news,  which  flies  fast,  had  drawn 
162 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

from  the  apparent  emptiness  of  a  country 
neighborhood  an  ever-increasing  and  clamorous 
mob.  They  followed  at  Antonio's  heels  like 
snapping  curs.  He  knew  to  the  full  the  bitter- 
ness of  public  execration.  It  was  forgotten 
that  the  dead  man  had  few  friends  and  many 
enemies.  His  vices  were  forgiven  him  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  been  murdered  by  an 
Indian. 

Of  a  sudden  he  had  become  a  hero,  a  repre- 
sentative man,  a  focus  for  that  sentiment  which 
is  the  mockery  of  patriotism  yet  sometimes  con- 
founded with  it,  race  hatred,  latent  in  some 
breasts,  yet  existing  in  all  and  answerable  for 
some  of  the  cruellest  tragedies  of  history. 

It  was  suggested  that  the  prisoner  be  strung 
without  trial  to  the  nearest  oak  tree ;  but  lynch 
law  is  less  popular  when  the  regular  courts  give 
satisfaction,  and  when  had  an  Indian  ever  been 
acquitted  in  a  court? 

Popular  opinion  was  satisfied  when  handcuffs 
were  produced  and  placed  upon  him,  and  he  was 
thrown  into  a  jolting  cart  for  quick  conveyance 
to  Hilton.  Haste  was  the  more  necessary,  since 
the  hot  and  fitful  breezes  promised  an  electric 
storm,  and  the  sun  was  already  sinking  in  a 
lurid  sky  behind  the  mountains. 


163 


CHAPTER    XI 

Fairfax  had  climbed  beyond  sight  of  the 
canon  and  that  which  was  transpiring  there; 
and  as  he  hurried  on  his  way  he  had  forgotten 
the  probability  of  which  he  had  been  clearly 
conscious, — that  the  Indian  might  be  suspected 
of  his  crime.  His  brain  was  confused  with 
many  contradictory  thoughts.  Fear  clutched 
at  his  throat  and  put  reason  to  flight. 

The  oppressive  heat  made  progress  difficult. 
He  stumbled  on  the  rocky  way,  yet  pushed 
unceasingly  forward  as  if  there  were  danger  in  a 
moment's  delay.  The  course  of  the  mountain 
stream  became  ever  more  difficult  and  choked 
with  gigantic  boulders  where  in  winter  the  rush- 
ing water  tumbled  in  cascades  from  rock  to 
rock.  Sometimes  there  were  passageways  be- 
tween them,  sometimes  he  must  clamber  over 
and  around  them.  To  take  to  the  tangled 
thickets  at  the  sides  offered  only  a  change  of 
difficulties.  A  lynx  crept  soft-footed  across  a 
grassy  level,  and  disappeared  with  a  bound  at 
the  noise  of  his  approach.  A  buzzard  sat  upon 
a  tree  above  his  head,  blinking  its  reddened  eyes 
165 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

and  craning  its  hideous  naked  neck  as  if  in 
search  of  prey. 

He  came  at  last  upon  a  stretch  of  open  mesa 
where  the  wide  horizon  seemed  set  with  spying 
eyes,  and  he  longed  for  the  shelter  of  the 
thicket.  It  was  growing  dusk,  however,  and 
darkness  would  soon  cover  his  flight.  From 
the  height  where  he  now  stood  he  caught  a 
glimpse,  through  an  opening  in  the  mountains, 
of  the  distant  ocean  with  a  rocky  islet  rising 
from  it  like  a  drifting  sail. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  a  crimson  sky,  as  if 
in  a  sea  of  blood.  In  the  east,  where  the 
mountains  rose  steeply,  a  thunderstorm  was 
massing  great  heaps  of  lurid  clouds. 

His  path  now  led  upward  upon  the  face  of  a 
granite  cliff,  where  the  erosion  of  storm  and 
weather  had  worn  a  natural  causeway.  At  the 
top  of  the  cliff,  and  on  the  brow  of  the  moun- 
tain, he  was  safe  to  pause  and  take  his  rest,  and 
look  about  him  like  an  eagle  perched  upon  an 
inaccessible  eyrie. 

Here  he  was  free  from  pursuit,  or  if  it  came 
he  could  baffle  detection  by  taking  refuge  in  the 
countless  hiding-places  formed  by  rocky  caves, 
deep  chasms  and  winding  canons,  which  gave 
variety  to  the  mountain  side  that  from  a  dis- 
tance had  the  appearance  of  an  even  slope. 
166 


A  SOUL  in  BBONZE 

Only  a  goat  could  climb  over  some  of  the  nar- 
row ledges  which  bridged  these  perilous  depths, 
and  he  realized  thafc  in  the  darkness  his  progress 
must  be  full  of  danger,  unless  he  could  deter- 
mine on  a  route  less  difficult  than  the  one  he  was 
pursuing.  He  was  anxious  to  make  his  way 
with  little  delay  to  the  stage-road  indicated  by 
Antonio  as  his  safest  point  of  communication 
with  the  world;  but  he  began  to  realize  that 
what  might  seem  a  feasible  journey  to  the 
Indian  was  attended  for  him  with  all  the  perils 
of  hopeless  wandering  in  a  labyrinth  of  savage 
hills,  where  a  false  step  might  threaten  his  life, 
and  thirst  and  hunger  wear  fatally  upon  his 
strength. 

At  whatever  danger  of  detection,  he  must 
descend  to  the  level  of  the  valleys,  where  a 
ranch  house  would  afford  him  food  and  shelter. 
"When  he  saw  to  what  a  height  he  had  climbed 
and  how  the  night  was  closing  in  upon  him,  he 
began  to  suspect  the  Indian  of  purposely  mis- 
directing him.  The  loneliness  of  the  vast  soli- 
tude appalled  him,  and  he  started  in  physical 
terror  as  a  tremendous  noise,  like  the  burst  of  a 
volley  of  artillery,  shook  the  very  ground  at  his 
feet. 

The  thunder  clouds  had  rolled  upward  to  the 
zenith,  and  flash  after  flash  of  zigzag  lightning 
167 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

more  vivid  than  any  he  had  known  before 
dazzled  and  blinded  him,  while  his  ears  were 
filled  with  the  continuous  roar  of  a  mighty 
whirlwind,  driving  in  its  course  not  torrents  of 
rain  but  columns  of  sand  and  gravel  that  beat 
like  hail  upon  every  unprotected  surface. 

The  lightning  was  continuous,  the  thunder 
echoed  from  rock  to  rock,  with  repeated 
reverberations  that  could  not  die  upon  the  ear, 
so  rapidly  was  each  succeeded  by  the  next ;  but 
what  daunted  Fairfax  was  the  unfamiliar  thing, 
the  fierce  beating  of  that  rain  of  sand  upon 
him. 

It  drove  into  his  eyes  and  choked  his  mouth ; 
he  rolled  upon  his  face,  and  submitted  to  its 
pelting ;  then,  realizing  that  no  strength  could 
hold  but  long  against  the  ever -increasing  fury 
of  the  hurricane,  the  sucking  of  his  life-breath 
from  his  lungs  in  that  deadly  atmosphere,  he 
crawled  like  a  wounded  creature  in  search  of 
shelter,  but  found  none.  Voices  shouted  to 
him  through  the  hurly-burly.  Dorothea  was 
calling  his  name.  Jennings  stood  outlined  in 
fire  against  the  sky  and  waved  his  hand  and 
jeered  at  him.  Fairfax  staggered  to  his  feet. 
On  the  opposite  slope  he  would  be  in  the  lee  of 
the  mountain  ridge.  He  must  reach  that 
refuge  or  die.  He  reeled  helplessly  against  the 
168 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

pressure  of  the  mighty  force  which  upbore  him 
and  carried  him  along.  One  foot  was  on  the 
ground,  the  other  trod  on  nothingness,  and  still 
the  wind  carried  him  like  a  leaf. 

There  was  a  flaw  in  the  tempest,  a  sudden 
veering  of  the  gale,  and  Fairfax  fell,  striking 
against  jagged,  bruising  rock-walls,  fell  within 
a  deep  abyss,  a  long  narrow  gully  made  by  some 
rending  earthquake  in  primeval  times,  serving 
now  as  a  shelter  from  the  storm — a  quiet  grave 
for  the  dead. 

Dorothea  sat  upon  the  eastern  portico  of  the 
vine-covered  cottage  at  Magnolia  ranch.  The 
night  air  was  so  still  and  breathless  that  a  pin- 
fall  could  have  been  heard.  Her  pulses  beat 
quickly  from  some  inner  excitement  caused  by 
the  electric  tension  in  the  air.  The  stars  shone 
overhead  through  rents  in  fleecy  vapor;  and  the 
ocean  was  silvered  by  a  late  lingering  glow  in  a 
pallid  sky;  but  over  the  mountains,  fifty  miles 
distant,  great  piles  of  clouds  of  an  inky  black- 
ness rose  and  mounted  ever  higher  towards  the 
zenith,  obscuring  the  stars.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hereford  had  been  called  to  town  on  a  matter 
of  business.  Mrs.  Aguilar  had  taken  to  her  bed 
directly  after  supper  with  the  nervous  headache 
which  was  the  consequence  with  her  of  a  desert 
169 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

wind.  She  was  the  less  unwilling  to  leave 
Dorothea  alone  as  she  was  assured  that  Burke 
was  to  call  that  evening,  and  she  momentarily 
expected  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet. 
All  her  animosity  had  vanished,  and  was  re- 
placed by  a  fervent  wish  that  he  might  prosper 
in  his  wooing.  She  could  foresee  no  happier 
future  for  her  niece  than  that  which  he  offered 
her. 

Dorothea  blushed  and  started  at  the  sound 
of  his  footstep  on  the  porch.  It  seemed  un- 
maidenly  that  she  should  thus  wait  for  him 
alone.  She  feared  that  he  might  think  it  pre- 
arranged, and  she  was  shy  and  distant  in  her 
greeting.  Burke  did  not  notice  this.  He  was 
weary  and  absent-minded,  and  he  sank  into  a 
chair  with  hardly  a  glance  at  her  face. 

4  *  They  are  having  a  tremendous  storm  at 
Casa  Blanca,"  he  said,  "an  electric  storm  which 
affects  the  telegraph  wires.  They  tried  to  tele- 
phone me  just  now  from  Hilton;  but  I  could 
not  make  out  what  they  said.  I  am  almost  sure 
I  did  not  understand  it  rightly.  At  any  rate, 
I  am  quite  willing  to  wait  until  to-morrow  for 
the  message." 

"Did  it  concern  any  of  our  friends?"  asked 
Dorothea. 

Burke  looked  at  her  quickly.  "Yes,  and 
170 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

no,"  lie  said.     "But,  as  I  say,  I  could  not  hear 
the  words  connectedly." 

The  darkness  grew  inky  of  a  sudden.  The 
clouds  had  swept  the  stars  out  of  sight.  A 
sudden  flash  of  zigzag  lightning  rent  the  heav- 
ens, but  in  silence,  for  there  was  no  thunder  peal. 

"The  storm  is  too  distant  for  us  to  hear  the 
thunder,"  said  Burke.  "It  is  fifty  miles  away, 
yet  the  lightning  is  instantaneous.  Look  how 
it  flashes  and  quivers!  Do  you  not  enjoy 
watching  it?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Dorothea,  uneasily. 
"The  storm  makes  me  very  nervous.  I  believe 
it  is  the  silence  of  it.  It  is  so  unnatural.  Not 
a  leaf  stirs  on  the  loquat  tree  there.  It  is  as  if 
the  night  were  holding  its  breath." 

Burke  sighed.  "I  believe  it  has  that  effect 
on  me,"  he  said.  "We  are  only  children  of 
nature,  after  all,  and  she  frightens  us  with  her 
ill  tempers.  How  helpless  we  are  to  control 
events !  Life  sometimes  becomes  a  storm  or  a 
cyclone,  and  rends  our  plans  and  wishes  and 
makes  nothing  of  our  human  wills." 

Dorothea  caught  her  breath  with  a  laugh. 
"How  blue  you  are!"  she  said.  "As  for  myself 
I  feel  as  if  I  wanted  to  cry.  I  feel  like  a  child 
in  the  dark,  who  wants  some  one's  hand  to 
hold." 

171 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"Hold  mine,  dear,"  said  Burke,  offering  it. 

"How  can  you?"  she  exclaimed,  with  an 
angry  blush.  "I  thought  you  knew  that  we 
were  to  be  only  friends." 

"You  are  too  hard  on  me,"  said  Burke.  "I 
am  sure  I  do  the  best  I  can,  but  it  is  a  hard 
task  you  have  set  me ;  to  be  with  you  and  not  to 
tell  you  how  I  love  you ;  or  to  live  in  lonely 
misery  without  the  chance  to  see  you.  Has 
not  every  man  the  right,  Dorothea,  to  speak  for 
himself,  to  woo  the  woman  he  loves?  A  girl  of 
your  age  hardly  knows  her  own  heart.  She 
sometimes  says  no  and  spends  a  lifetime  in 
regretting  it." 

"Oh,  how  vain  you  are  to  imagine  that  that 
could  be!  "retorted  Dorothea.  "She  may  find 
some  one  she  loves  much  better,  some  one  who 
is  the  very  ideal  of  her  soul,  and  without  whom 
all  her  life  would  have  been  lonely  if  she  said 
yes  to  the  first  man." 

Burke  moved  closer  to  Dorothea,  and  bent  to 
look  into  her  eyes  by  the  shifting  light  of  the 
thunderbolts. 

"Is  there  such  another,  Dorothea?"  he  asked. 

She  panted  in  alarm.  "I  did  not  mean  it  of 
myself,"  she  answered. 

"I  think  you  did,"  said  Burke,  growing  pale 
and  speaking  slowly.  "No  woman  ever  yet 
172 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

dealt  in  generalities.  All  her  philosophy  is 
taken  out  of  her  own  heart.  You  owe  it  to  me 
to  answer  me.  Do  you  love,  could  you  love, 
Antonio  Lachusa?" 

Dorothea  gave  a  little  cry  of  defiance.  "You 
ask  me  two  questions  in  one,"  she  said,  "and 
you  have  no  right,  no  shadow  of  a  right,  to  ask 
either ;  but  I  will  tell  you  that  I  could  love  such 
a  man.  I  will  not  say  I  do." 

Burke 's  face  changed  quickly. 

"I  can  never  let  him  know  it,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  burning  cheeks.  "I  shall  never 
give  him  the  slightest  sign  of  it ;  and  yet,  in 
spite  of  myself,  I  can  not  feel  when  he  is  near 
me  that  he  is  an  outcast  simply  because  he  is  of 
another  race.  I  can  not  shut  my  eyes  to  the 
beauty  of  his  nature,  the  finest,  most  unselfish 
nature  I  have  ever  known.  I  can  not  fail  to 
read  all  that  his  eyes  tell  me,  and  to  realize  that 
he  gives  me  a  love  for  which  I  might  thank  God 
on  my  knees  if  it  were  given  by  another  man, 
and  yet  no  other  man  could  be  capable  of  it. 
I  shall  carefully  obey  the  conventions  which 
men  have  made,  do  not  be  uneasy  about  that. 
I  should  do  this  for  my  father's  sake,  for  every 
reason  except  the  innermost  voice  of  my  being, 
and  that  I  must  not  listen  to.  But  in  my  heart 
I  despise  and  defy  these  narrow  rules.  A  great 
173 


^     A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

soul  like  Antonio's  might  make  its  own  con- 
ventions." 

Burke 's  immovable  attitude  vexed  her  almost 
to  tears. 

"You  said  I  owed  it  to  you  to  tell  you  the 
truth,"  she  said.  "Now  I  have  done  so,  tell 
me  you  hate  me  if  you  choose.  Anything  "is 
better  than  silent  contempt." 

"I  can  not  hate  you,  though  you  wound  me 
cruelly,"  he  replied.  "I  can  not  even  think  of 
my  own  pain,  in  view  of  the  misery  you  may 
suffer.  Be  patient  with  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
your  fancy  will  not  last.  It  is  founded  upon 
pity,  and  the  very  pathos  of  it,  its  unusual  con- 
ditions, are  necessary  to  its  existence.  It  is  a 
hot-house  plant.  It  will  not  bear  the  rude 
breath  of  reality.  And  when  it  shall  perish,  as 
it  certainly  will,  you  may  turn  to  me  as  one  who 
has  always  been  your  friend.  Remember  that 
whatever  happens  I  have  this  claim  upon  you. 
I  shall  never  relinquish  my  right  to  repeat  my 
offer  until  you  belong  to  another." 

Dorothea's  eyes  were  wet.  "You  are  better 
to  me  than  I  deserve,"  she  said.  "I  feel  that  I 
may  trust  you,  and  I  am  grateful  for  that." 

"God  knows  you  may  trust  my  love,"  he 
answered.     "Life  is  hard.     Its  storms  rend  our 
illusions.     If  there  are  storms  ahead  for  you, 
174 


SOUL  in  BRONZE 

remember  that  my  arms  are  always  ready  for 
your  refuge.  'My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt,  I'd 
shelter  thee.'  " 

He  rose  to  take  leave,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"You  are  going,"  she  said,  "and  oh !  I  am  so 
afraid  of  the  storm.  Stay  only  a  little  longer. 
It  is  not  late.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  choke  with 
fright  sitting  here  and  watching  the  lightning 
alone,  and  yet  I  could  not  sleep.  Auntie  has  a 
headache,  and  must  not  be  spoken  to.  The 
servants  are  not  about.  I  am  in  actual  terror 
all  of  a  sudden,  as  if  some  fearful  thing  had 
happened,  or  was  about  to  happen." 

Burke  resumed  his  seat.  "Take  my  hand, 
dear,"  he  said  again.  "Then  you  will  not  be 
frightened." 

Her  cold  fingers  stole  shyly  within  his ;  and 
soon  the  friendly  grasp  of  the  strong  hand 
quieted  her  fears. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hereford,  returning,  found 
the  two  seated  together  in  quiet  confidence, 
which  they  interpreted  as  meaning  all  that  they 
hoped  for  both.  The  cheer  of  their  lively 
presence  restored  Dorothea  to  herself.  Burke 
rode  back  to  town  through  the  night,  feeling 
some  stray  gusty  eddies  of  the  storm  which  was 
dying  into  silence  and  darkness  over  the  moun- 
tains. 

175 


CHAPTER   XII 

Burke  started  at  early  dawn  for  Hilton.  The 
telephone  message  had  been  repeated  to  him, 
and  he  found  that  he  had  heard  aright.  That 
which  he  had  refused  to  credit,  and  which  he 
dreaded  as  a  complication  of  evils  for  his  friends, 
particularly  for  Dorothea,  was  sad  and  sober 
fact.  Samuel  K.  Jennings  had  been  found 
murdered  in  an  unfrequented  spot.  Antonio 
Lachusa  was  accused  of  the  crime. 

Mr.  Hereford  read  the  morning  paper  at  the 
breakfast  table,  and  handed  it  in  silence  to  his 
wife,  who  in  turn  contrived  that  Mrs.  Aguilar 
should  see  it  before  her  niece.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, had  not  the  self-control  of  the  lawyer  and 
his  wife.  She  exclaimed  in  indignant  horror : 
"As  well  accuse  me,"  she  said.  "Oh,  it  is 
shameful,  horrible!"  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

It  was  her  niece  who  comforted  her.  The 
sudden  blow  of  fate  was  only  a  challenge  to 
Dorothea's  courage.  No  doubt  by  the  time 
they  reached  Hilton  Antonio  would  be  free,  and 
the  real  murderer  discovered.  They  must  go  at 
once.  All  her  hopes  were  centred  upon  Burke's 
177 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

skill  as  a  lawyer  and  fidelity  as  a  friend.  She 
must  see  him  immediately  and  engage  him  in 
Antonio's  defence. 

The  prisoner  had  been  kept  closely  guarded 
in  the  station-house  at  Hilton,  and  he  had  slept 
manacled  as  ho  was,  while  his  guards  watched 
and  the  hurricane  raged  without. 

"An  Indian  has  no  more  feeling  than  a  dog," 
said  one  of  the  men.  "He  can  murder  a  man 
in  cold  blood,  and  then  lie  down  and  sleep  like 
that." 

The  possibility  of  the  innocence  of  the 
accused  occurred  to  no  one,  though  legally  he 
was  entitled  to  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  The 
evidence,  it  was  understood,  would  suffice  to 
hang  him  twice  over ;  and  the  case  had  been 
tried  and  sentence  passed  in  the  popular  opin- 
ion, before  the  phlegmatic  little  justice  who  was 
to  conduct  the  preliminary  hearing  had  finished 
his  dinner.  This  important  event  concluded, 
he  was  as  indisposed  as  any  one  for  delay. 

The  court  was  opened  and  the  crowd  of  spec- 
tators who  clamored  for  admission  were  denied 
entrance  only  because  of  the  limited  space,  and 
the  fact  that  the  justice,  being  scant  of  breath, 
must  consider  his  comfort.  The  room  was  well 
filled  with  the  witnesses  and  the  court  officials. 
The  prisoner  was  brought  into  court,  and  the 
178 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

weapon  with  which  the  crime  had  been  com- 
mitted, a  long  slender  dagger  of  Ferrara  steel, 
with  a  chased  silver  handle,  was  laid  on  the  desk 
of  the  prosecuting  attorney,  Judson  Bradford, 
a  young  man  with  an  enviable  record  of  swift 
success  in  criminal  cases. 

Burke,  who  was  present  as  spectator,  looked 
at  this  weapon  with  curious  interest. 

Antonio,  as  he  entered,  cast  a  hasty  glance 
about  the  room,  as  if  searching  for  a  friend. 
He  saw  only  Burke,  who  sat  with  downcast  eyes, 
playing  absent-mindedly  with  a  paper-cutter. 
The  young  lawyer  was  determined  not  to  betray 
the  interest  he  took  in  the  case,  and  he  listened 
with  an  air  of  unconcern  which  struck  Antonio 
as  the  refinement  of  cynicism. 

The  clerk  read  the  charge  of  murder  in  the 
first  degree,  and  Antonio,  being  put  to  the  plea, 
replied  in  a  clear  voice,  "Not  guilty." 

The  coroner,  whose  presence  in  the  neighbor- 
hood had  made  it  possible  to  grant  the  popular 
demand  for  an  immediate  hearing  of  the  case, 
was  the  first  witness.  He  described  the  appear- 
ance of  the  body,  which  had  been  removed  from 
the  place  where  it  had  fallen  upon  an  exigency 
arising  from  the  tremendous  sand-storm  which 
had  burst  over  Casa  Blanca  that  night,  and 
which  made  it  inexpedient  to^ leave  the  dead 
179 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

exposed.  The  body,  however,  had  been  as 
little  as  possible  disturbed.  The  stiletto  was 
still  in  the  place  where  it  had  given  the  fatal 
blow,  wedged  tightly  into  the  joint  between  the 
vertebra  and  the  skull,  a  vulnerable  spot  diffi- 
cult of  attainment  by  any  but  a  practiced  hand. 
Chance,  of  course,  might  have  favored  the 
direction  of  the  blow.  Death  had  been  instan- 
taneous. 

John  Evans  and  Henry  Brown,  employed  as 
clerks  in  the  store  and  post-office,  followed  as 
witnesses.  They  described  the  finding  of  the 
body  of  their  late  employer  in  the  canon  near 
the  gold  mine,  where  the  prisoner  stood  close 
by  as  if  gloating  over  his  deed. 

They  told  how  Jennings  had  been  decoyed  to 
the  spot  half  an  hour  before  by  the  prisoner, 
who  had  called  more  than  once  at  the  store  to 
inquire  for  him,  and  had  been  present  at  the 
very  moment  of  Jennings's  return  from  Hilton. 
He  had  given  the  postmaster  a  sealed  note, 
which  had  evidently  contained  a  forged  letter 
appointing  a  meeting  with  some  friend  unex- 
pected at  the  time,  for  Jennings  had  shown  sur- 
prise and  apprehension,  and,  as  if  suspecting 
foul  play,  had  armed  himself  with  two  loaded 
revolvers ;  and  had  said  to  his  clerks  when  he 
started,  "Boys,  if  I  am  not  back  in  half  an  hour 
180 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

come  after  me.  I  may  have  business  on  hand 
that  will  need  your  help.  I  am  going  down  to 
the  gold  mine  to  meet  a  friend." 

A  dozen  men  had  seen  Antonio  hanging  about 
the  store,  and  had  witnessed  his  giving  the 
sealed  envelope  to  Jennings.  Some  of  them 
averred  that  it  contained  a  card  with  pencilled 
words  upon  it. 

Others  deposed  that  Antonio  had  more  than 
once  shown  hatred  of  the  postmaster.  Noth- 
ing would  induce  him  to  make  purchases  at  the 
store.  He  rode  or  walked  the  ten  miles  to  Hil- 
ton, in  preference.  The  cause  of  this  hatred 
was  well  known.  It  was  not  necessary  to  refer 
to  the  fact  that  the  dead  man  was  universally 
regarded  as  the  father  of  Marta  Lachusa's  child. 

The  prisoner  was  askedif  he  wished  to  testify 
in  his  own  behalf.  Antonio  looked  around 
among  the  unsympathetic  spectators,  eager  only 
for  his  conviction;  he  looked  at  Burke 's  averted 
face,  and  slightly  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  said  all  that  I  care  to  say,"  he 
answered.  "I  am  not  guilty  of  the  murder  of 
this  man." 

To    some    further     questioning    he    refused 

response,  and  Bradford    confronted  the  judge 

with  an  impatient  frown,  as  if  to  protest  against 

delay.     The  hearing  was  forthwith  concluded, 

181 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

the  court  holding  the  prisoner  for  the  December 
term  of  the  superior  court  without  bail. 

Antonio,  handcuffed  and  surrounded  by  a 
hooting  mob,  was  led  to  the  stage  that  was  wait- 
ing for  passengers  bound  for  the  town.  He  was 
hustled  into  a  seat  between  two  guards. 

Just  as  the  stage  was  about  to  start  a  loaded 
farm -wagon  drove  into  the  village,  and  a  num- 
ber of  Indians  still  in  festal  costume  descended 
and  looked  about  them  in  bewilderment. 

Antonio  recognized  his  sister,  and  leaning 
forward  called  her  name.  Marta  rushed  to  the 
side  of  the  stage,  waving  her  hands  with  dis- 
tracted gestures.  She  tried  to  reach  her 
brother;  she  tried  to  clamber  upon  the  step; 
but  the  coach  starting  at  the  moment,  she  was 
forced  back,  and  would  have  fallen  beneath  the 
wheels  if  a  bystander  had  not  caught  her  by 
the  arm  and  dragged  her  out  of  danger. 

Antonio  called  a  comforting  message  as  he 
passed,  but  his  guard,  interrupting,  struck  him 
roughly  on  the  mouth. 

4 'Hold  your  gab,  murderer,"  he  said,  with 
an  oath. 

Burke  was  seated  in  his  office  at  Hilton.  His 
desk  was  piled  with  accumulated  correspond- 
ence, but  he  had  not  begun  his  work.  He  was 

183 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

sunk  in  moody  revery,  and  he  started  as  if  from 
a  dream  when,  after  a  quick  tap  at  the  door, 
Dorothea  stood  before  him.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  looked  at  her  with  keen  solicitude. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  with  tears,  her  lips  were 
quivering,  and  she  struggled  with  the  sobs  that 
choked  her  voice,  as  she  began  hurriedly: 
"I  have  come  at  once  to  you,  Mr.  Burke. 
You  will  help  us,  I  am  sure.  I  have  come  to 
beg  you  to  defend  Antonio." 

Burke  stood  rigid  with  surprise.  The  light 
died  slowly  from  his  eyes,  and  his  lips  became 
compressed  into  a  stern  rigidity. 

Dorothea,  watching  him  closely,  made  a 
little  eager  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Do  not  refuse.  Wait  a  moment.  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  something  else.  I  will  give 
you  all,  all  you  ask,  if  you  will  save  his  life." 

"You  mean "  began  Burke. 

"I  mean  that  I  will  marry  you,  if  you  still 
wish  it,  anything,  anything  to  save  him." 

Burke  clenched  his  hands  until  the  nails 
made  little  rosy  marks  in  the  flesh  of  the  palms. 
So  a  man  might  brace  himself  to  immobility  as 
he  heard  his  death  sentence. 

"It  was  your  love  I  asked  you  to  give  me, 
Dorothea,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  whose  emphasis 
was  eloquent  enough. 

183 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Oh,  I  will  love  you  if  yon  save  him,"  she 
cried  wildly.  "He  must  not  die  that  fearful 
death." 

She  moved  closer  to  him  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm.  He  trembled  at  the  touch. 
"For  my  sake,"  she  pleaded. 

"Good  Gk>d,  Dorothea!"  he  exclaimed.  "Can 
you  so  forget  yourself  for  this  man,  an  Indian, 
a  murderer?" 

She  started  in  horror.  "Is  it  possible  that 
you  believe  him  guilty?"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  I  believe  him  guilty,"  he  answered. 

"Oh,  how  can  you?"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh, 
what  shall  I  do?" 

Burke's  heart  was  wrung  with  pity  for  her  grief. 

"I  have  not  yet  refused  your  request,"  he 
said.  "For  your  sake  I  will  defend  him.  I 
believe  that  the  Indian  had  great  provocation ; 
but  he  planned  the  murder  coolly  and  deliber- 
ately. I  do  not  think  that  it  is  possible  to  save 
his  life ;  but  I  will  yield  to  your  wishes,  and  do 
my  best  with  the  case." 

His  tone  was  cold  and  indifferent,  but  she  did 
not  notice  this  in  the  joy  his  words  gave  her. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  smiling  through 
her  tears. 

"You  will  succeed,"  she  said.     "You  always 
do.     How  can  I  ever  thank  you?" 
184 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  took  her  hand  and  stood  looking  down 
upon  her  with  mournful  eyes.  She  seemed  so 
weak  and  defenceless  in  the  storm  that  had 
broken  upon  her  that  he  was  roused  from  his 
own  bitter  grief  to  a  sudden  recognition  of  her 
position.  Let  the  world  but  once  suspect  the 
enthusiasm  of  her  interest  in  the  Indian,  and 
its  judgment  would  not  spare  her.  To  a  woman 
the  world's  condemnation  is  social  death.  In  a 
lightning  flash  he  saw  her  future  revealed,  and 
his  own  duty  as  clearly  defined.  He  put  his 
arm  about  her,  and  drawing  her  towards  him 
he  kissed  her  passive  lips. 

"This  is  my  retaining  fee,"  he  said.  "I  will 
accept  all  that  you  will  grant  me.  I  believe 
Lachusa  guilty,  and  there  is  only  one  thing  that 
can  give  me  courage  to  throw  myself  heart  and 
soul  into  the  case.  You  have  guessed  what  that 
is.  I  hesitated,  for  I  feared  to  take  advantage 
of  a  momentary  feeling,  something  you  might 
regret.  If  you  are  really  sure  of  yourself, 
Dorothea,  I  will  do  my  best  to  save  Lachusa's 
life,  on  condition  that  you  allow  me  to  an- 
nounce our  engagement  to-day." 

"As  you  please,"  she  answered.  "What  does 
it  matter — now?" 

It  was  impossible  for  Dorothea,  in  the  youth- 
ful self-absorption  of  her  grief,  to  understand 
185 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

the  complexity  of  emotion  which  swelled 
Burke's  heart.  He  was  realizing  in  bitterness 
of  sonl  the  irony  of  fate,  and  for  that  sorrow 
there  is  no  consolation. 

Mrs.  Aguilar's  entrance  at  this  moment  filled 
the  room  with  the  clamors  of  woe. 

4 'What  can  be  done,  Harry,  oh,  what  can  be 
done?"  she  cried.  "Every  one  is  against  him. 
They  say  there  is  not  a  break  in  the  testimony, 
not  a  loophole  for  escape." 

"We  shall  see,"  answered  Burke.  "I  must 
have  time  to  work  it  up.  I  am  engaged  to  con- 
duct the  case,  and  I  do  it  to  please  Dorothea, 
who  has  promised  to  be  my  wife.  Please  tell 
the  news  to  our  friends." 

Mrs.  Aguilar  embraced  her  niece  with  con- 
gratulations, mingled  with  tears.  This  was  no 
time  for  joy,  but  the  bright  and  the  dark  are 
strangely  mingled  in  life. 

"If  I  could  see  Antonio,"  said  Dorothea, 
"I  think  I  could  make  him  speak  in  his  own 
defence.  They  say  he  will  not  open  his  mouth. 
I  feel  sure  that  he  is  concealing  the  truth  from 
some  good  and  generous  motive.  It  would  be 
like  him  to  suffer  for  the  sake  of  saving 
another.  I  wonder  if  it  could  be  possible  that 
Marta " 

"Dolly,  how  can  you?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
186 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Aguilar.  "Marta  has  been  patient  for  so  long, 
How  could  she  do  a  deed  like  that?" 

14 Oh,  I  do  not  know  what  to  think,"  said 
Dorothea. 

"It  is  hardly  possible  that  you  should  see 
Lachusa,"  said  Burke,  "but  I  will  go  at  once 
to  town,  and  make  the  preparations  for  the 
defence.  I  will  see  him,  and  see  what  I  can  get 
out  of  him,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  I  prosper." 

"I  will  go  back  to  Casa  Blanca,  and  I  will 
find  some  clue,"  said  Dorothea,  earnestly. 
"There  must  be  a  clue  that  will  lead  in  an 
opposite  direction  if  we  follow  it  before  it  is  too 
late.  I  will  give  my  whole  heart  to  finding  it. 
You  shall  see  what  a  detective  I  will  make,  Mr. 
Burke.  Together  we  will  work  up  a  strong 
case  for  our  client." 

Her  eyes  shone  for  the  first  time  with  the 
light  of  hope. 

Burke  detained  her  to  whisper  in  her  ear: 
"When  we  are  with  others  remember  that  we 
are  betrothed.  When  we  are  alone,  I  will  exact 
nothing." 

"How  good  you  are!"  she  answered.  "Oh, 
how  I  feel  it !  I  will  try  so  hard  to  do  my  duty 
to  you." 

When  the  door  was  shut  behind  her  Burke 
seated  himself  again  at  his  desk,  laid  his  head 
187 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

upon  his  arms,  and  exclaimed  with  half  a  sob: 
"God  help  me  to  be  content  with  that.  I  am 
too  old  to  cherish  illusions.  I  ought  to  know 
that  fortune  never  gives  us  more  than  half  our 
wish.  The  hopes  and  dreams  of  youth  mock  a 
man  of  my  age.  Courage,  patience  and  duty, 
that  is  all  there  is  to  life,  after  all." 


188 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A  week  later  Burke  met  Judson  Bradford  on 
the  street  in  town. 

4 'Oh,  I  say,  Burke,"  exclaimed  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney,  "I  should  like  to  have  two  words 
with  you,  if  you  have  the  time.  About  that 
criminal  prosecution :  You  have  not  the  ghost 
of  a  case,  you  know.  Now,  I  have  more  evi- 
dence than  I  need.  It  may  be  expedient  to  dis- 
pense with  some  of  it.  But  first  tell  me  if  what 
I  hear  is  true.  Are  you  engaged  to  Miss  Doro- 
thea Fairfax?" 

"It  is  true,"  Burke  replied,  paling  a  little  in 
expectation  of  he  knew  not  what. 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right.  I  congratulate  yon. 
That  is  all  I  wanted  to  know." 

"Tell  me  what  you  mean,"  said  Burke, 
determinedly. 

"Only  that  I  will  not  call  a  certain  witness. 
I  can  get  on  very  well  without  him.  My  case 
is  already  made  up  from  beginning  to  end." 

"I  must  insist  that  you  explain,"  persisted 
Burke. 

"No  use,  waste  of  time,  hurt  your  feelings; 
189 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

but  if  you  insist: — I've  been  making  inquiries 
among  the  Indians;  have  every  moment  of 
prisoner's  time  accounted  for  on  the  day  of  the 
murder.  He  went  over  to  the  fiesta  at  Leona 
and  tried  to  win  the  election  as  Captain. 
Madly  ambitious,  always  in  hot  water,  he 
quarrelled  with  Felipe,  a  friend  of  his,  on 
account  of  an  injurious  slander  he  had  referred 
to.  Jennings  had  made  a  derogatory  allusion 
to  Miss  Dorothea  Fairfax,  it  seems.  He  had 
declared  in  his  saloon  that  she  encouraged  an 
Indian  lover,  4the  sneak  Lachusa,'  as  he  said." 

Burke  took  a  step  forward,  anger  flaming  in 
his  eyes. 

"Just  so  Lachusa  sprang  upon  Felipe  with 
fury  in  his  look;  then  recollecting,  as  you 
must,  that  he  had  forced  his  friend  to  repeat  it, 
he  went  straight  back  to  Casa  Blanca,  where  he 
murdered  Samuel  Jennings,  the  slanderer. 
This  story  was  told  to  me  by  that  smooth- 
tongued Marco,  who  overheard  Jennings  make 
the  remark,  and  also  overheard  Lachusa's  con- 
versation with  Felipe  on  the  subject.  But  I 
will  take  pains  not  to  call  Marco  as  a  witness 
for  your  sake,  Burke." 

It  was  impossible  for  Burke  to  forget  this 
conversation.  He  pondered  it  painfully  during 
the  day,  and  lay  awake  at  night  recalling  it. 
190 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  was  now  absolutely  convinced  of  Lachusa's 
guilt.  He  was  also  conscious  that  in  his  inmost 
heart  he  justified  and  applauded  the  deed. 

The  next  day's  mail  brought  him  a  letter  from 
Dorothea. 

"Dear  Mr.  Burke,"  she  wrote.  "I  have  a 
clue,  a  very  important  one.  A  stranger  was  at 
Casa  Blanca  on  the  day  of  the  murder.  He 
came  and  went  in  a  mysterious  manner,  evi- 
dently desiring  to  avoid  recognition.  Mr. 
Beverly's  hired  man  saw  him  driving  alone  in  a 
light  wagon  on  the  road  near  Casa  Blanca,  and 
gave  him  some  information  about  the  distance 
to  that  place.  The  stranger  was  dressed  in  a 
rough  outing  suit,  and  wore  a  soft  hat  pulled 
down  well  over  his  face.  He  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  and  looked  like  a  foreigner.  When  he 
reached  Casa  Blanca  he  left  his  wagon,  tying 
the  horse  under  the  shed  near  the  blacksmith's 
shop.  The  shop  was  shut  up,  the  blacksmith 
being  away.  The  horse  was  left  untended  there 
all  day.  When  the  storm  came  on  the  horse 
became  terrified  by  the  lightning,  broke  his 
bridle,  and  ran  furiously  down  the  road,  demol- 
ishing the  carriage  and  freeing  himself  from  the 
harness,  and  finally  took  refuge  in  an  open  barn 
half-way  to  Hilton.  An  account  of  the  run- 
away was  in  the  daily  paper.  It  was  discovered 
191 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

that  the  horse  belonged  to  the  Crescent  livery 
stable  in  town.  One  of  the  employees  of  the 
stable  came  after  it,  and  took  it  back.  If  you 
question  him  you  will  be  able  to  obtain  a  de- 
scription of  the  stranger,  who  has  not  been  seen 
or  heard  of  since.  I  am  convinced  that  this 
was  the  man  who  sent  the  note  to  Jennings  by 
Antonio.  I  am  convinced  that  the  stranger  was 
the  murderer.  Why  Antonio  wishes  to  shield 
him  by  his  silence  I  can  not  imagine.  Perhaps 
he  gave  his  promise  to  say  nothing.  Antonio 
would  not  deliberately  aid  a  criminal,  but  an 
Indian  attaches  great  importance  to  a  promise. 
He  will  keep  faith  at  any  cost." 

Burke  smiled  at  the  gap  between  Dorothea's 
premise  and  conclusion;  but  he  considered  the 
matter  worth  looking  into,  and  went  at  once  to 
the  Crescent  livery  stable. 

Yes,  the  man  who  brought  back  the  horse 
hired  it  to  the  stranger,  who  paid  for  its  use  in 
advance,  promising  to  return  next  day.  He 
was  going  on  a  business  trip  in  the  mountains, 
he  said.  He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  and 
looked  like  a  gentleman,  though  he  was  dressed 
in  a  roughish  sort  of  foreign  suit.  He  wore  a 
belt  about  his  waist,  with  a  broad  silver  buckle. 
No,  it  was  not  a  cartridge  belt. 

Burke  began  to  take  more  interest  in  Doro- 
192 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

thea's  clue,  and  he  went  at  once  to  the  jail  to 
call  upon  Antonio.  As  the  key  turned  in  the 
heavy  lock,  Antonio  looked  up  from  his  seat  on 
the  bench,  which  served  for  bed  and  chair  alike, 
and  greeted  his  lawyer  with  a  smile.  Any 
change  was  a  welcome  relief  from  the  dreadful 
monotony  of  his  days,  and  Burke  was  the  only 
link  between  his  present  and  the  outer  world. 
There  was  no  ray  of  direct  sunlight  in  the  place. 
The  only  window,  a  high  loophole,  gave  on  a 
narrow  court;  and  a  feeble  glimmer  came 
through  the  grated  door  from  the  corridor,  on 
which  similar  cells  fronted.  This  was  mur- 
derers5 row. 

To  Burke  the  situation  seemed  for  the  first 
time  intolerably  sad.  It  was  as  if  a  strong 
young  eagle  nursed  on  sunny  heights  were  shut 
up  in  a  dark  cage  to  die.  He  took  a  seat  beside 
the  prisoner,  and  he  addressed  him  with  a  new 
ring  of  sympathy  in  his  voice  which  Antonio 
was  quick  to  detect. 

"I  hope  you  are  going  to  speak  to-day, 
Lachusa.  Your  friends  are  working  for  you. 
I  am  going  to  do  my  best,  but  I  am  hampered 
from  the  start  by  your  unwillingness  to  give  me 
your  version  of  the  story.  Surely  you  can  have 
confidence  in  your  lawyer.  If  you  tell  me  you 
did  the  deed,  I  shall  still  defend  you.  Will 
193 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

you  not  tell  me  who  murdered  Samuel 
Jennings?" 

Antonio  quickly  reviewed  the  situation.  He 
saw  that  there  was  no  rescue  for  him  unless 
Fairfax  should  confess  the  crime  and  give  him- 
self up  to  justice;  for  since  suspicion  had  not 
attached  to  him  his  escape  was  assured.  By 
this  time  he  was  already  at  the  coast,  and  the 
world  was  open  to  his  flight.  Accusation  of 
him  would  contain  no  proof.  If  there  were  no 
hope  why  should  he  struggle  against  his  fate? 
Silence  would  best  serve  Dorothea. 

Burke  watched  him  in  perplexity,  then  he 
drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  we  have  a  clue," 
he  continued,  since  his  question  remained 
unanswered.  "Miss  Fairfax  is  greatly  inter- 
ested in  your  case.  She  has  been  working 
indefatigably  in  your  behalf,  for  she  is  firmly 
persuaded  of  your  innocence." 

Antonio's  eyes  shone  with  delight. 

Burke  felt  that  the  position  of  each  must  be 
clearly  defined,  and  he  added  deliberately, 
"Miss  Fairfax  has  promised  to  become  my 
wife." 

Antonio's  look  did  not  falter,  though  a  subtle 
change  came  over  his  face. 

"This  letter  is  from  her  concerning  you," 
194 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  went  on,  in  an  incisive  voice,  as  if 
utterance  were  an  effort.  "I  will  read  it  to  you. " 
Antonio  listened  with  parted  lips  and  dilated 
eyes.  He  was  divided  between  joy  and  terror, 
joy  that  Dorothea  believed  in  him,  and  terror 
lest  her  efforts  to  discover  the  murderer  should 
be  rewarded  with  success.  She  could  not  fore- 
see the  horror  that  lay  in  wait  for  her.  Burke 
must  not  know  that  his  promised  wife  was  the 
daughter  of  a  criminal.  Through  Antonio  they 
should  never  know.  He  realized  that  it  was  not 
only  Dorothea's  promise  to  Burke  that  had  now 
forever  divided  them.  The  future  of  which  he 
had  dreamed  had  no  reality.  There  was  no 
honorable  career  open  to  an  Indian;  no  outlet 
for  his  ambition.  Life  could  offer  nothing 
which  might  efface  the  memory  of  a  felon's  cell. 
He  had  yielded  from  the  first  to  that  unwritten 
law  which  debarred  him  from  equality  with  the 
white  man.  He  had  sought  for  means  of 
advancement  among  his  people,  moved  by  an 
instinct  of  loyalty  to  them.  He  had  tested 
them  and  found  them  lacking.  He  felt  within 
himself  the  genius  of  organization,  the  power  of 
a  political  chief  strong  in  patience  and  invinci- 
ble in  pursuit  of  a  just  success ;  but  he  stood 
alone.  He  was  a  monarch  without  a  country; 
a  leader  without  a  party. 
195 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

At  the  moment  when  he  had  allowed  his 
hands  to  be  bound  with  undeserved  fetters  he 
made  the  irrevocable  decision  which  parted  him 
from  hope  and  love.  He  made  it,  as  life's  most 
momentous  decisions  are  often  made,  in  igno- 
rance of  all  the  issues  that  hung  upon  his  choice : 
but  he  knew  that  if  that  moment  could  be 
repeated  his  act  would  be  the  same,  his  relin- 
quishment  as  complete. 

"I  am  grateful  for  your  kindness,  Mr. 
Burke,"  he  said.  "Please  give  Miss  Fairfax 
the  assurance  of  my  gratitude.  Assure  her, 
too,  that  she  does  me  no  more  than  justice. 
I  am  innocent  of  that  man's  death.  I  have  had 
cause  to  wish  him  dead,  but  I  have  never 
planned  or  executed  anything  to  his  hurt. 
I  am  innocent,  and  I  do  not  fear  death.  I 
fear  only  that  she  should  grieve  for  me.  Please 
tell  her  that  I  rejoice  in  her  happiness,  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  make  her  happy." 

Burke  did  not  allow  the  instinct  of  an 
alarmed  pride  to  rise  beyond  the  surface 
of  his  thought.  He  remembered  Dorothea's 
look  when  she  had  confessed  her  love  for 
this  man,  now  almost  beneath  the  world's 
scorn.,  yet  bearing  himself  as  bravely  as  if 
he  were  Burke's  equal,  and  sending  mes- 
sages to  Burke's  betrothed;  and  he  kept 
196 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

his    patience,  giving    himself    credit    for    his 
forbearance. 

"I  will  tell  Miss  Fairfax  what  you  say,"  he 
replied,  "but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  far 
from  the  point.  Are  you  going  to  answer  my 
questions?  Do  you  know  anything  of  this 
stranger?  Can  you  elucidate  the  matter?  It  is 
an  injustice  to  your  lawyer  to  keep  him  in  the 
dark.  Give  me,  at  any  rate,  a  reason  for  your 
silence." 

Antonio  pondered  before  he  replied.  "I  can 
only  say,  Mr.  Burke,  that  I  hope  you  will  not 
follow  up  that  clue.  I  hope  you  will  persuade 
Miss  Fairfax  to  do  no  more  on  my  behalf.  I 
am  bound,  as  she  imagines,  by  a  certain  obliga- 
tion to  secrecy.  No  one  but  my  friends  will 
believe  in  my  innocence  if  I  persist  in  this 
course ;  and  yet  I  doubt  if  my  giving  you  the 
fullest  information  in  my  power  could  change 
the  course  of  the  trial  or  alter  the  sentence  that 
will  be  given.  If  it  does  not  insure  my  safety 
why  should  I  speak?  Others  would  suffer,  yet 
I  would  not  be  free.  I  am  determined  to  say 
no  more." 

"You  can  not  tell  how  much  help  your  infor- 
mation would  give  me,"  said  Burke,  impatiently. 
"If  you  are  innocent  you  should  speak  for  truth 
and  justice.    Leave  the  result  to  circumstances. ' ' 
197 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Antonio  shook  his  head.  "I  appear  obsti- 
nate and  unreasonable,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"That  is  not  my  real  character,  but  I  must  sub- 
mit to  being  misunderstood." 

Burke  rose  to  take  leave,  more  perplexed  than 
he  cared  to  own  by  the  complications  of  the 
situation.  "I  will  see  the  warden  and  ask  that 
you  be  put  into  a  better  cell,"  he  said.  "After 
the  trial  I  may  not  be  able  to  save  you  from 
murderers'  row." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Antonio.  "I  would 
like  light  enough  to  read,  and  I  would  like  to 
be  allowed  some  books.  It  will  be  a  great  favor 
if  you  obtain  that  for  me.  As  for  the  result  of 
the  trial,  do  not  worry  about  that,  Mr.  Burke. 
A  death  by  hanging  is  to  be  dreaded  chiefly 
because  of  its  ignominy;  and  I  hope  to  learn 
enough  philosophy  to  forget  that  part  of  it." 

Burke  found  ~  lit  tie  to  occupy  him  in  town. 
He  determined  to  return  to  Casa  Blanca,  and 
endeavor  to  secure  witnesses  for  his  side  of  the 
case.  He  must  see  Mr.  Beverly's  hired  man; 
incidentally  he  must  also  see  Dorothea.  Long 
hours  of  solitary  musing  had  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts  from  a  resigned  despair  to 
courage,  and  even  hope.  He  had  convinced 
himself  that  Dorothea's  love  for  Antonio  was  no 
198 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

more  than  a  fancy  founded  upon  pity.  The 
tragic  interest  of  his  present  position  worked 
strongly  upon  her  sympathies ;  but  her  feeling 
for  him  could  not  bear  the  strain  of  time  and 
change. 

All  the  orderly  conventions  of  life,  all  prac- 
tical rules  of  conduct  and  duty,  were  on  Burke's 
side;  and  what  woman  can  long  hold  out 
against  these  influences? 

So  he  set  himself  to  his  daily  task  without 
wasting  time  in  much  self-pity.  His  profession 
had  taught  him  confidence  in  his  own  abilities. 
The  stubbornest  of  jurymen  had  more  than  once 
resigned  his  convictions  to  the  young  lawyer's 
persuasions,  all  unconscious  of  defeat.  With  the 
happiness  of  his  life  hanging  upon  the  issue, 
Burke  promised  himself  that  he  should  prove 
no  laggard  in  his  wooing. 

As  he  passed  the  gates  of  the  white  house  he 
rode  slowly  and  looked  curiously  at  the  place, 
which  had  a  strangely  deserted  air.  The  blinds 
were  closed  at  most  of  the  windows.  There  was 
no  life  about  the  grounds.  Only  in  the  garden 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  moving  figure,  and  at 
his  approach  two  hands  parted  the  hedge,  and 
a  white  face  appeared  in  the  gap. 

It  was  Mrs.  Jennings,  pale  and  changed  in 
her  widow's  weeds. 

199 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"Are  you  coming  to  see  me?"  she  asked. 
"I  have  been  waiting  for  you."  He  could  do 
no  less  than  dismount  and  advance  to  meet  her. 

"You  wrote  me  a  letter  of  sympathy,"  she 
said.  "I  should  thank  you,  I  suppose.  Now 
you  are  on  your  way  to  see  Miss  Fairfax. 
I  hear  you  are  engaged;  and  I  hear  that  you 
are  going  to  defend  my  husband's  murderer. 
I  have  been  longing  to  see  you  only  to  tell  you 
how  I  hate  you  for  that." 

Burke  started  in  surprise  at  her  tone,  noting 
the  wild  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"I  have  not  lost  my  reason,  though  I  see  you 
suspect  it,"  she  added  quickly.  "It  is  a  won- 
der I  have  not.  Here  I  am,  all  alone  in  this  big 
house,  with  only  my  memories,  and  the  sug- 
gestion of  Sam's  presence  everywhere  about; 
and  it  is  as  if  I  had  murdered  him.  My  divorce 
was  easily  obtained!  And  you  are  going  to 
defend  the  murderer!" 

Burke  saw  that  she  was  half  beside  herself, 
and  answered  soothingly : 

"You  ought  not  to  be  alone,  Nellie.  Where 
are  the  others?" 

"Papa  and  Bessie  left  the  day  after  the 
funeral,  and  mother  had  already  gone,"  she 
answered.  "They  have  gone  on  visits,  any- 
where to  escape  the  talk  and  the  miserable 
200 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

notoriety.  Papa  is  going  to  sell  the  place.  He 
does  not  intend  to  return.  The  gold  mine  is 
already  sold,  as  I  suppose  you  know.  It  is  Miss 
Fairfax's  dowry."  She  laughed  with  a  savage 
gleam  of  white  teeth  through  her  parted  lips. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Burke. 

"Why,  her  dear  papa  bought  it  of  father  and 
Sam,  meaning  it  as  a  surprise  to  his  daughter, 
and  intending  to  come  here  and  live ;  and  this 
is  one  reason  why  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Harry. 
Mr.  Fairfax  is  a  hardened  criminal.  I  will  tell 
you  that  for  your  comfort,  now  that  you  are 
going  to  be  his  son-in-law.  He  and  Sam  had 
dealings  in  the  past,  and  they  hated  each  other 
as  criminals  will.  My  dear  departed  served  a 
term  in  the  penitentiary.  I  found  that  out 
after  his  death.  Mr.  Fairfax  deserved  the 
same,  I  know  from  Sam's  hints.  He  did  not 
know  when  he  bought  the  mine  here  that  Sam 
was  the  biggest  part  of  the  Company.  He  did 
not  know  Sam  lived  here  at  all ;  and  my  hus- 
band begged  me  to  see  that  Dorothea  did  not 
inform  him  of  the  fact.  It  might  not  have 
occurred  to  her  to  mention  it  if  I  had  not 
deliberately  disobeyed  my  husband,  and  put  it 
into  her  mind  to  send  just  that  news  in  her 
letters  to  her  father.  I  have  been  thinking  it 
over,  and  I  believe  that  indirectly  I  am  Sam's 
201 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

murderer.  I  believe  that  it  was  Mr.  Fairfax 
who  hired  the  Indian  to  kill  my  husband." 

Burke  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that 
solitude  and  unhappy  thoughts  had  unhinged 
her  mind. 

"You  must  not  stay  here  alone,"  he  repeated. 
1 '  Will  you  not  join  your  family?  You  will  be 
ill  if  you  remain  here.  Promise  me  you  will 
take  care  of  yourself  and  leave  detective  work 
to  those  responsible.  You  did  your  best, 
Nellie.  You  have  had  a  hard  life. " 

The  friendly  solicitude  of  his  tone  did  not 
melt  her  mood. 

"I  have  been  staying  here  to  meet  you.  I 
knew  you  must  come  sooner  or  later.  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  all  about  the  miserable  matter.  I 
did  not  dream  you  would  take  any  bribe  to 
defend  the  wretch  who  murdered  my  husband, 
whether  or  not  he  was  a  hired  assassin.  And 
could  you  bring  yourself  to  marry  this  girl, 
Harry,  if  you  knew  her  father  to  be  a  criminal?" 

"You  are  not  yourself,  Nellie,"  said  Burke 
firmly.  "You  must  let  me  take  you  to  your 
mother.  Promise  me  you  will  go  this  very 
day." 

"I  see  you  will  not  listen  to  such  an  unwel- 
come suggestion,"  she  retorted.  "You  would 
rather  believe  me  mad  for  harboring  the  thought ; 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

but  evil  can  come  as  close  to  your  beloved  as  it 
has  to  me.  There  is  no  magic  circle  drawn 
about  her  for  her  protection.  Once  I  was  a 
light-hearted  girl;  and  then  you  might  have 
thought  one  mad  who  had  predicted  that  I 
should  be  the  widow  of  a  murdered  man,  a  man 
bad  enough  to  deserve  his  fate.  Your  Dorothea 
may  be  the  daughter  of  a  man  bad  enough  to  do 
the  deed,  or,  worse  yet,  to  plan  it,  and  hire  it 
done.  I  say  there  is  something  in  the  fact  that 
the  man  to  whom  Sam  sold  the  gold-mine, 
cheating  him,  as  you  must  know,  was  an  old 
acquaintance  and  a  deadly  enemy ;  and  I  warn 
you  as  a  friend  to  avoid  a  marriage  which  may 
bring  you  nothing  but  sorrow  and  disgrace. ' ' 

With  this  she  turned  away,  and  resisting 
Burke 's  repeated  offers  of  service,  silenced  him 
with  a  distant  wave  of  the  hand,  and  disap- 
peared like  a  fleeting  ghost  in  the  shadowy  lone- 
liness of  the  deserted  house. 

Burke  turned  away  in  gloomy  thought,  lead- 
ing his  horse  by  the  bridle.  It  is  a  misfortune 
of  the  logically  inductive  mind,  trained  to 
link  cause  and  effect,  and  to  search  for  the 
hidden  springs  of  action,  that  even  improbable 
suggestions  have  a  certain  effect.  By  a  flash  of 
intuition  outstripping  the  processes  of  reason, 
Burke  saw  that,  given  the  possibility  of  this 
203 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

horrible  suspicion,  Lachusa's  conduct  acquired 
sudden  consistency.  He  loved  Dorothea;  he 
would  not  implicate  her  father  in  the  crime. 
In  the  next  moment  common-sense  asserted 
itself;  and  Burke  wondered  that  he  could  have 
submitted  his  thought  for  the  fraction  of  a 
moment  to  the  influence  of  a  mind  diseased  by 
grief  and  jealousy* 


204 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Burke  found  Dorothea  alone.  She  was  pale 
and  sad,  but  a  rosy  color  mounted  to  the  roots 
of  her  shining  hair  as  he  bent  and  kissed  her 
hand  in  foreign  fashion.  Burke  saw  that  she 
was  trembling  with  repressed  impatience,  and 
following  a  new  line  of  policy,  he  came  at  once 
to  the  point. 

'I  went  yesterday  to  see  Lachusa,"  he  said. 
"I  spent  some  time  in  his  cell.  It  was  a  dismal 
place,  dark  and  unhealthy,  not  suited  to  his 
strong  young  frame,  that  seems  made  for  free- 
dom and  athletic  exercise.  He  looked  as  if  he 
were  able  to  carry  off  the  gates,  like  Samson  at 
Gaza;  but  IIQ  submits  to  his  fate,  as  if  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  and  refuses  absolutely  to  speak. 
I  followed  up  the  clue  you  gave  me.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  there  is  something  in  it.  We  will  hope 
for  the  best.  I  wonder  what  his  future  would 
be  if  he  were  freed  from  this  charge?" 

"What  future  is  there  for  any  man  who  has 
been  accused  and  imprisoned?"  said  Dorothea. 
"That  is  the  worst  of  it.  It  is  so  wickedly 
unjust." 

205 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"He  might  live  it  down,  but  there  is  no  open- 
ing for  one  of  his  race,"  said  Burke.  "I  won- 
der that  he  has  not  tried  to  make  more  of  his 
education.  Put  him  and  me  to  a  competitive 
examination,  and  no  doubt  he  would  carry  off 
all  the  honors ;  yet  I  live  by  my  brains,  and  he 
hag  been  content  to  be  a  day -laborer. " 

"He  did  it  from  a  consistent  purpose,"  ex- 
plained Dorothea.  "He  thinks  all  labor  is 
noble,  and  he  wanted  his  people  to  believe  in 
him,  and  to  realize  that  he  did  not  hold  himself 
above  them,  while  at  the  same  time  he  was 
planning  to  give  his  life  to  their  advancement. 
He  was  going  about  it  by  degrees.  He  has  a 
masterly  mind,  and  always  sees  the  end  from  the 
beginning,  and  has  patience  as  well  as  foresight. " 

"That  is  a  characteristic  of  the  Indian,"  re- 
marked Burke.  "There  ought  to  be  a  great 
future  for  the  red  man.  I  blush  for  my  own 
race  when  I  see  the  result  of  their  boasted  civili- 
zation in  its  effect  upon  the  so-called  inferior 
races.  Mrs.  Aguilar  is  right  when  she  says  that 
the  Indian's  virtues  are  all  his  own ;  his  vices 
those  of  the  white  man." 

"You  have  learned  something  since  I  have 
seen  you,"  said  Dorothea. 

"No  one  could  be  with  Lachusa  and  not 
recognize  the  latent  possibilities  of  his  char- 
206 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

acter,"  said  Burke.  He  was  speaking  with  a 
purpose,  yet  not  insincerely.  "Even  if  lie  did 
the  crime,  I  believe  he  did  it  from  a  motive  that 
would  almost  extenuate  it." 

"He  did  not  doit,  of  course,"  she  replied. 
"But  what  could  that  motive  be?" 

"Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"Lawyers  never  tell  their  wives  the  secrets  of 
their  cases." 

Dorothea  blushed  and  kept  silence. 

Burke  seated  himself  near  the  table  and 
began  to  play  with  the  trinkets  upon  it.  It 
assisted  his  thought  if  his  fingers  were  busy  with 
some  small  object.  He  touched  the  picture 
frame,  and  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it. 

"My  father,"  commented  Dorothea.  "I  be- 
lieve I  have  shown  it  to  you." 

Burke  nodded  and  looked  curiously  at  the 
face  before  him. 

'"I  am  so  worried  about  papa,"  she  continued. 
"It  is  so  long  since  I  have  heard.  I  fear  that 
he  is  ill,  perhaps  dead.  I  can  not  rid  my  mind 
of  the  thought ;  and  it  is  such  a  curious  thing, 
last  night  I  lay  awake  here,  as  I  thought,  and 
the  moonlight  shone  into  the  room,  and  as  plain 
as  I  see  you  now  I  saw  him  there  seated  in  that 
very  chair  before  my  dressing-table.  It  did 
not  seem  a  dream,  it  was  so  real ;  but  I  cried 
207 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

out  and  woke  my  aunt,  and  she  told  me  I  had 
had  a  nightmare.  Oh,  Harry,  what  do  you 
think  has  happened  to  him?" 

"He  is  probably  away  on  a  long  trip.  You 
will  hear  soon." 

"He  does  not  even  know  of  my  engagement," 
slier  continued.  "It  seems  like  treason  to  him. 
Of  course,  if  he  objects,  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Burke.  "I  shall  sub- 
mit to  his  will,  but  I  have  great  confidence  in 
his  taste  and  judgment.  I  believe  he  will  think 
his  Dolly  could  do  worse." 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  were  so  vain,"  said 
Dorothea,  and  her  heart  grew  a  little  lighter  in 
spite  of  herself. 

Burke  was  in  a  gay  mood,  and  he  was  pleased 
to  find  that  Dorothea  was  alone.  School  was 
not  in  session,  but  the  little  pupils  had  left  their 
books  and  maps  behind  them  in  the  large  airy 
room  where  Mrs.  Aguilar  had  presided  over  the 
shooting  of  the  young  aboriginal  idea  from  the 
time  of  its  earliest  sprouting. 

Burke  declaimed  pieces  from  the  Third 
Reader,  drew  pictures  upon  the  board,  and  put 
Dorothea  through  an  examination  in  geography. 
Then,  observing  the  hour,  he  asked  if  her  house- 
keeping did  not  include  a  mid-day  meal,  and  if 
he  were  not  expected  to  stay  and  share  it. 
208 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  wonder  what  I  can  offer  you,"  she  replied. 
"I  was  to  have  some  fruit,  and  there  is  bread 
and  butter." 

"What  more  do  we  need?"  he  asked.  "Bread 
and  butter  spread  by  your  hands,  and  figs  and 
grapes  and  guavas.  I  will  make  some  guava 
fool.  It  is  food  for  the  gods.  Get  me  a 
strainer  and  a  bowl,  and  a  big  spoon  and  some 
sugar,  and  tie  an  apron  around  iny  neck  for  the 
salvation  of  my  shirt  front ;  and  do  you  whip 
the  cream.  I  am  glad  there  is  plenty  of  cream. ' ' 

Dorothea  obeyed  his  instructions,  smiling  as 
she  tied  a  large  white  apron  close  about  his 
neck.  She  felt  the  stirring  of  an  almost  mater- 
nal tenderness  as  she  touched  his  curly  locks, 
and  looked  down  upon  his  well -poised  handsome 
head.  It  was  as  if  she  were  already  his  wife, 
content  to  share  life's  homely  duties  with  him, 
though  her  youth,  with  its  illusions,  was  dead 
and  buried,  and  the  purple  light  of  love  had 
faded  forever  from  her  soul. 

Burke  took  her  faith  for  granted,  and  every 
moment  wove  closer  the  tie  that  bound  her  to  him. 

It  is  an  instinct  with  unselfish  women  to  find 
a  certain  pleasure  in  renunciation.  Let  duty 
command  in  unmistakable  tones,  and  they  will 
prove  with  bleeding  feet  the  ordeal  of  the 
ploughshares. 

209 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  was  well  pleased  with  the  progress  he 
had  made.  He  did  not  make  the  mistake  of 
overstaying  his  time,  but  took  his  leave  while 
Dorothea's  eyes  and  ears  were  still  at  his  com- 
mand. He  left  her  uncertain  of  the  time  of  his 
return.  He  was  to  ride  over  to  Leona  and  pass 
a  day  or  two  in  the  neighborhood ;  but  would 
return  to  town  by  the  stage-road  and  not  by 
Casa  Blanca.  He  must  give  his  time  now  to 
the  conduct  of  his  case ;  business  before  pleas- 
ure ;  duty  before  love. 

He  stood  hat  and  whip  in  hand,  as  he  lingered 
to  say  farewell,  and  Dorothea  with  averted  eyes 
gave  him  the  shy,  fleeting  touch  of  her  hand. 

A  shadow  of  repressed  emotion  fell  across  his 
face  and  his  lips  trembled. 

"Some  day,  perhaps,  our  meeting  and  our 
parting  will  be  different,"  he  said.  "I  ask 
nothing  now.  You  have  given  me  your  prom- 
ise, and  I  thank  you  every  day  of  my  life.  All 
else  must  come  freely  from  your  heart.  It  must 
be  your  joy  to  give,  or  I  have  no  pleasure  in 
receiving." 

He  sprang  to  the  saddle  and  was  off  like  a  flash. 
Dorothea  watched  him  with  a  strange  mingling 
of  emotions.  He  had  always  possessed  the  power 
to  stir  and  trouble  her  heart,  and  now  she  was  his 
promised  wife.  She  owed  him  a  life's  fidelity. 
210 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

She  went  to  her  desk  and  took  out  a  faded 
bunch  of  flowers.  Antonio  had  gathered  them 
for  her  on  an  almost  inaccessible  cliff  where  an 
eagle  had  built  its  nest.  With  reluctant  hands 
she  placed  the  flowers  upon  the  coals  that 
smouldered  in  the  grate,  where  she  watched 
them  until  they  were  consumed ;  then  turned  with 
streaming  eyes  to  resume  her  interrupted  duties. 

As  the  season  waned  the  nights  grew  chill  at 
Casa  Blanca.  Mrs.  Aguilar  was  occupied  with 
cares  that  were  no  part  of  her  official  duties,  but 
became  pressing  with  each  returning  winter,  the 
need  of  providing  food  and  clothing  for  the  poor 
old  people  who  were  pensioners  on  an  un- 
friendly soil  and  an  indifferent  national  govern- 
ment. The  noonday  December  sun  was  hot, 
but  there  was  a  skimming  of  ice  over  the  spring 
in  the  hollow  in  the  early  morning.  The  chil- 
dren came  shivering  to  school.  A  bed  upon  the 
ground,  with  one  blanket  for  covering,  chills 
even  the  blood  of  childhood. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  made  sacrifices  and  gave  time 
and  money  which  she  could  ill  spare.  She  was 
therefore  quite  beside  herself  with  indignation 
when  a  rumor  reached  her  ears  that  the  people 
of  the  tribe  were  planning  an  offering  of  gar- 
ments to  the  dead. 

211 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

This  was  a  custom  which,  in  its  present  form, 
was  a  survival  of  certain  primitive  rites  now  dis- 
couraged and  inveighed  against  by  those  friends 
of  the  Indians  who  had  at  heart  the  progress  of 
civilization  among  them. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  called  upon  Felipe  to  use  his 
authority  to  forbid  the  proposed  celebration, 
but  he  would  make  no  promises  and  answer  no 
questions.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  not  will- 
ing to  risk  his  newly  acquired  popularity. 
There  was  a  general  reticence  in  regard  to  the 
plan.  No  one  was  disposed  to  give  informa- 
tion. Marta,  when  closely  questioned,  acknowl- 
edged that  she  was  heart  and  soul  in  favor  of  it. 

"I  can  not  sleep  at  night,"  she  said,  "for 
thinking  how  cold  my  little  Fernando  must  be 
without  my  bosom  to  lie  in.  Should  I  not  be 
willing  to  go  without  my  winter  shawl  for  the 
sake  of  warming  his  little  body?" 

To  all  representations  as  to  the  inutility  of 
the  sacrifice,  she  turned  a  deaf  ear,  and  she 
maintained  an  impassive  air  when  Mrs.  Aguilar 
invoked  the  authority  of  the  church. 

"Our  religion  is  good,  too,"  said  Marta, 
boldly  heretical,  "as  good  as  the  priest's.  We 
love  our  dead  people.  They  are  still  alive ;  but 
it  is  in  no  place  of  flames.  It  is  like  this  world; 
and  my  Fernando  must  go  cold  unless  I  send 
212 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

him  something  to  keep  him  warm.  We  have 
not  done  this  for  years,  and  the  spirits  of  our 
people  vex  us." 

Realizing  the  opposition  which  they  were 
likely  to  encounter,  the  Indians  made  all  their 
preparations  secretly.  Marta  and  Angela  met 
by  stealth  one  day  in  the  gathering  twilight  at 
the  deserted  hut  of  boughs  which  Antonio  had 
built  for  his  sleeping  place,  and  where  his  pos- 
sessions were  still  stored  undisturbed,  though  no 
lock  was  on  the  door.  They  entered  the  hut 
and  looked  awe-struck  about  them. 

His  cot  bed  stood  neatly  made,  a  shelf  of 
books  above  it.  A  trunk  full  of  clothes  was  at 
the  further  end.  There  was  a  chair  and  a 
table  made  of  pine  boards,  and  on  pegs  driven 
into  the  wall  hung  his  rifle  and  cartridge  belt. 
All  was  as  he  had  left  it,  except  that  storms  had 
rent  the  walls,  and  drifted  sand  and  the  stains 
of  rain  gave  token  of  desolation  and  neglect. 

"I  have  not  been  in  here  before,"  said  Marta. 
"It  made  me  too  sad.  I  am  afraid  to  touch  his 
clothes.  It  is  like  stealing  from  my  brother, 
who  has  always  been  good  to  me." 

"He  will  never  need  the  clothes  now,"  said 

Angela    who  had  opened  the  trunk  and  was 

making  eager     selection    from    its     contents. 

"Here  is  a  thick,  warm  overcoat,  just  the  thing 

213 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

for  my  old  husband.  He  used  to  suffer  when 
he  lived  with  rheumatism  of  the  joints.  I  do 
not  know  that  he  is  any  better  where  he  is,  for 
not  a  thing  have  I  sent  him  in  all  these  years. 
I  may  as  well  take  a  whole  suit.  Antonio  will 
not  send  for  his  best  clothes  for  the  hanging, 
and  they  will  not  take  much  pains  with  his  lay- 
ing-out." 

Marta  began  to  weep  violently.  "How  can 
you  say  such  things?"  she  cried.  "You  have 
no  heart  nor  feeling.  Come  away.  You  shall 
not  have  the  things.  Not  a  stitch  of  clothing 
shall  you  touch,  wicked  woman  that  you  are." 

Angela  smiled  cynically.  "You  will  not  gain 
by  speaking  ill  of  your  elders, ' '  she  said.  * '  You 
can  best  serve  Antonio  by  sending  his  things 
before  him  to  the  other  world.  If  he  grudges 
them  to  my  husband  they  may  settle  it  between 
them  there ;  but  Antonio  always  had  a  generous 
heart." 

Marta  continued  to  sob,  but  mindful  of  Fer- 
nando's  interests,  and  sure  of  Antonio's  affec- 
tion for  his  little  nephew,  she  made  choice  of 
such  garments  as  would  serve  her  turn. 

The  night  was  chill,  and  a  wailing  wind  sang 

in  the  tree  tops.     On  the  level  sward  before  old 

Diego's  house,  a  great  fire  of  oak  logs  had  been 

built  as  soon  as  darkness  fell,  protected  on  one 

214 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

side  by  a  windbreak  of  wattled  boughs.  Around 
the  fire  and  watching  its  fierce  flaming,  a  crowd 
of  picturesque  dark-skinned  figures  were  col- 
lected, while  in  an  outer  circle  the  women  sat 
upon  the  ground,  wrapped  in  brightly-colored 
shawls  and  blankets. 

At  nine  o'clock  a  wailing  chant  was  started. 
It  began  like  the  sighing  of  the  wind  in  the 
trees.  Its  minor  cadences  were  reminiscent  of 
the  very  music  of  nature  herself,  the  noise  of 
the  elements,  the  voices  of  the  waves,  the  lan- 
guage of  the  beasts  of  the  forest.  Then  it  rose 
higher  into  wild  lamentations  for  the  dead. 
Each  heart  recalled  its  sorrow  and  mourned  for 
the  departed. 

Meantime,  old  Diego  was  bringing  from  his 
house  roll  after  roll  of  bright  new  calico  and 
shining  muslin  fresh  from  the  store.  He  stood 
with  uplifted  arms  while  a  circle  of  the  older 
Indians  knelt  bare-headed  before  him.  He  in- 
voked the  gods  of  the  air  and  the  invisible 
regions  of  the  dead ;  then  he  gave  to  the  heads 
of  each  family  a  portion  of  the  cloth  thus  dedi- 
cated, in  which  they  wrapped  the  garments  to 
be  sent  to  the  departed. 

The  leaders  of  the  ceremony  moved  back  and 
forth  before  the  fire,  keeping  rhythmic  time  to 
the  sound  of  the  sacred  rattle  which  Diego 
215 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

wielded  with  ever -increasing  fervor.  The  words 
which  they  loudly  chanted  were  apostrophes  to 
their  friends  in  the  spirit  world,  asking  their 
acceptance  of  the  gifts  they  brought. 

The  women,  meantime,  had  prepared  their 
offerings,  and  they  cast  the  garments  and  calico 
over  the  heads  of  the  men  who  knelt  in  a  circle 
about  the  fire,  now  a  bed  of  glowing  coals.  The 
prayers  and  chants  continued,  and  when  all  the 
clothing  had  been  presented  it  was  collected  and 
deposited  upon  the  fire,  which  leaped  to  con- 
sume it. 

The  ashes  were  collected  and  buried  in  a  nar- 
row trench.  Money  was  flung  upon  the  ground 
by  some  mourners  more  rashly  generous  than 
the  rest.  It  made  no  difference  to  these  brave 
souls  that  the  hoardings  of  a  month  were 
scrambled  for  by  shouting  urchins.  They  had 
done  their  part,  and  left  the  rest  to  the  gods  of 
the  dead. 

Since  the  gifts  were  accepted  and  the  shades 
propitiated,  the  wails  of  mourning  were  re- 
placed by  shouts  of  joy.  The  young  people  took 
their  places  in  the  circle.  They  were  now  free 
to  conclude  the  fiesta  as  they  pleased,  and  each 
sought  his  favorite  pastime.  The  elder  men 
began  the  war-dance,  that  reminder  of  the  past 
which  stirred  the  heart  with  thoughts  of  the 
216 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

wild  freedom  of  the  days  of  power  and  plenty 
and  national  greatness ;  and  the  younger  genera- 
tion watched  them,  wondering  vaguely  what 
relation  these  symbolic  acts  could  bear  to  the 
prospects  of  the  future  and  the  present  condi- 
tions of  their  life.  Then  by  common  consent 
the  hearts  of  the  young  men  turned  to  their  first 
love,  the  gambling  game  of  peon. 

"I  shall  write  to  Father  Gaspara,"  said  Mrs. 
Aguilar  severely  next  day  to  Felipe,  who  stood 
shamefacedly  before  her.  "He  must  know 
what  is  going  on  here.  You  are  all  baptized 
members  of  the  Catholic  church;  but  on  the 
whole  you  are  no  better  than  heathen.  You 
gamble  and  dance  the  war -dances,  and  you  go 
cold  and  naked  to  burn  up  yards  and  yards  of 
valuable  cloth  and  hats  and  coats  and  trousers ; 
and  you  fling  away  money  while  the  children's 
stomachs  are  weak  from  fasting.  It  is  a  shame, 
Felipe.  How  are  you  ever  going  to  keep  pace 
with  the  new  ideas?  How  are  you  ever  to  im- 
prove and  hold  your  own  in  the  struggle  for 
existence  among  the  white  men  when  you  act 
like  foolish  children?" 

4 'Let  Father  Gaspara  come  if  he  will,"  replied 
Felipe,  in  a  surly  tone.  "It  is  now  three  years 
since  we  have  seen  him,  and  every  year  there 
217 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

have  been  rumors  of  his  coming,  and  we  have 
strained  our  eyes  to  look  for  him,  and  each  time 
he  has  disappointed  us.  How  can  we  mind  the 
priest  if  he  forgets  us?" 

Mrs.  Aguilar,  finding  herself  put  upon  the 
defensive,  compromised  matters  by  gaining 
Felipe's  promise  that  the  practices  she  disliked 
should  be  stopped.  This  promise  was  the  easier 
to  make  since  in  reaction  from  their  late  enthu- 
siasm the  people  were  more  occupied  than 
before  with  mundane  considerations,  and  inter- 
est centred  chiefly  upon  the  trial  of  Antonio 
Lachusa,  which  was  to  take  place  within  the 
week. 

Mrs.  Aguilar  believed  that  Father  Gaspara 
would  be  willing  to  improve  the  occasion  by  an 
immediate  parochial  visit;  and  the  reply  which 
she  received  from  him  proved  that  she  was  not 
mistaken. 


218 


CHAPTER    XV 

Father  Gaspara  descended  from  the  wagon 
which  had  brought  him  np  the  mountain, 
and  was  greeted  by  the  crowding,  smiling  faces 
of  his  dark-skinned  parishioners.  The  padre 
might  delay  years  in  his  coming,  and  at  the  first 
sight  of  him  the  old  reverence  of  affection  would 
awaken  among  his  proteges,  whose  love  once 
gained  is  of  a  fidelity  seldom  seen  among  men. 

It  has  been  said  of  Father  Gaspara  that  his 
nature  contained  the  three  warring  elements  of 
poet,  soldier  and  priest.  Time  had  dealt  hardly 
with  the  poetical  tendency,  though  the  soldier 
still  spoke  in  the  erect  carriage  of  the  vigorous 
form,  the  flash  of  the  commanding  eye,  and  the 
alert  decision  with  which  he  confronted  the 
problems  of  life. 

At  Mrs.  Aguilar's  appeal  he  had  come  at  once 
to  seek  and  save  such  wandering  sheep  as  had 
escaped  his  fold,  to  uproot  the  tares  which 
Marco,  for  his  own  ends,  had  been  mischievously 
sowing,  and  to  confirm  the  faithful  in  their 
allegiance  to  their  mother  Church. 

Although  the  notice  of  his  coming  had  been 
219 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

too  sudden  to  allow  of  elaborate  preparation,  all 
had  been  done  that  was  possible  for  his  com- 
fort. A  ramada,  or  brush -hut,  had  been  built 
for  his  accommodation,  a  bed  and  chairs  had 
been  borrowed  from  the  school-house,  and  the 
church  itself,  of  which  only  one  wall  was  stand- 
ing, had  been  repaired  with  sapling  beams  and 
wattled  walls ;  and  within  it  an  altar  was  set  up, 
decked  with  drawn-work  hangings,  the  blessed 
candles  and  the  piaster  figure  of  the  patron 
saint. 

All  day  the  Indians  thronged  this  rude  sanc- 
tuary for  service  and  confession,  for  baptism  and 
marriage,  and  all  the  delayed  sacraments  of  the 
church.  They  came  from  far  and  near,  old  and 
young,  eager  for  the  offices  of  religion.  At 
night  they  had  a  fiesta  with  races  and  games ; 
but  they  did  not  gamble,  and  they  did  not 
dance,  for  the  padre's  eye  was  upon  them. 

Father  Gaspara  supped  at  the  school-house 
with  Mrs.  Aguilar  and  her  niece.  Dorothea 
regarded  the  priest  with  the  ardent  hero-wor- 
ship of  youth,  for  she  knew  that  he  had  sat  for 
a  character  in  her  favorite  book,  "Ramona,"  a 
book  which  in  pathos,  tenderness,  and  humanity 
comes  close  to,  if  it  does  not  deserve,  the  first 
place  among  the  few  great  American  novels. 

Father  Gaspara's  hair  had  been  glossy  black 
220 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

when  he  had  married  Eamona  to  her  Alessan- 
dro.  It  was  now  streaked  with  gray.  He  had 
then  been  disheartened  by  the  outrages  heaped 
upon  the  harmless  Mission  Indians,  who  were 
every  year  further  exiled  from  their  homes  by 
the  constant  aggression  of  the  white  man's 
greed.  He  had  long  since  ceased  to  hope  that 
this  could  end:  except  with  the  extermination 
of  the  race. 

Being  a  practical  man,  and  not  given  to  use- 
less sentimentality,  he  made  no  moan  and  wrote 
no  book.  The  poem  that  was  shaped  in  thought 
in  the  days  of  his  ardent  youth  might  have  been 
the  epic  of  a  dying  race;  but  the  song  remained 
unsung.  The  interests  of  life  change  with  in- 
creasing years  from  the  general  to  the  partic- 
ular. Father  Gaspara  to-day  was  concerning 
himself  with  Angela's  rheumatism,  Marco's 
incendiary  talk,  Pedro's  need  of  extreme  unc- 
tion, and  the  future  of  the  Indians  was  not  the 
subject  of  his  speculations. 

Dorothea,  however,  idealized  him  with  all  the 
ardor  of  a  youthful  imagination.  He  reminded 
her  of  Michael  Angeio's  Moses,  with  the  grand 
head  and  flowing  beard.  He,  too,  was  a  law- 
giver to  these  simple  people  who  knew  him  as 
their  friend  and  trusted  him  infinitely.  She 
knew  that  he  had  the  will  to  serve  them.  She 
221 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

wondered  if  he  could  have  the  influence  to  help 
Antonio  in  his  peril. 

In  the  terrible  labyrinth  of  the  law,  sympathy 
is  of  little  avail ;  but  perhaps  he  could  win  An- 
tonio's confidence,  and  command  him  by  the 
authority  of  the  Church  to  speak.  Dorothea 
was  sure  that  Antonio's  safety  depended  on  his 
revealing  the  name  of  the  stranger  who  had  been 
present  so  mysteriously  at  Casa  Blanca,  the 
stranger  who  was,  she  was  convinced,  the  mur- 
derer of  Samuel  Jennings. 

Father  Gaspara  had  heard  of  the  murder.  It 
was  the  chief  subject  of  conversation  among  the 
Indians.  He  listened  with  interest  to  Mrs. 
Aguilar's  account  of  Antonio's  history,  with 
which  he  was  already  partially  acquainted. 

"I  met  Mrs.  Leigh  years  ago,"  he  said. 
"She  came  to  see  me,  as  so  many  tourists  do, 
out  of  curiosity  as  readers  of  Mrs.  Jackson's 
book;  but  she  was  not  like  the  rest.  She  had  a 
real  interest  in  the  Indians.  She  told  me  of 
her  plans  for  her  Indian  charge,  and  showed  me 
his  picture  and  some  of  his  examination  papers. 
He  was  then  a  little  lad,  and  she  was  as  proud 
of  him  as  if  she  were  his  mother.  I  doubted 
then  the  success  of  her  experiment.  Yes,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  it,  I  doubted.  I  have  never  seen 
much  accomplished  by  individual  enthusiasm. 
222 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Mrs.  Jackson,  too,  was  an  enthusiast.  She  put 
her  heart's  blood  into  her  books ;  yet  what  good 
have  they  done?  Have  they  changed  public 
opinion?  To  a  slight  extent,  perhaps ;  but  for 
practical  justice  in  public  affairs  there  is  too 
much  politics  in  this  country,  my  friend.  A 
message  of  the  angel  Gabriel  would  not  be 
heeded,  if  he  stood  in  the  way  of  the  election  of 
some  third-rate  congressman  in  his  district. 
Yet  I  hoped,  I  really  hoped,  that  it  would  turn 
out  better  than  this;  a  murderer  caught  red- 
handed,  that  is  too  much!" 

Both  ladies  protested,  and  Dorothea  said 
quickly,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Father  Gaspara, 
but  Antonio  was  not  caught  red-handed.  If  he 
is  convicted  it  will  be  a  crime  against  truth." 

The  padre  fastened  his  keen  eyes  upon  her. 
"I  wish  you  might  plead  as  his  lawyer,"  he 
said.  "It  would  be  like  that  lady  in  your  poet 
Shakespeare's  play ;  but  things  do  not  happen 
that  way  nowadays.  I  have  .talked  with 
people  in  town  about  the  murder,  and  they 
think  the  Indian  deserves  to  be  hung." 

Dorothea  clasped  her  hands  together  beneath 
the  table.  She  tried  to  control  the  expression 
of  the  anguish  that  wrung  her  heart. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  would  like  to  beg 
of  you,"  she  said.  "When  you  return  to  town 
223 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

will  you  not  visit  Antonio  in  his  cell?  The  law- 
yer who  defends  him  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  he 
thinks  that  if  Antonio  could  be  forced  to  break 
his  silence  and  give  his  own  account  of  all  that 
happened  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  it  would 
give  him  the  clue  that  he  is  looking  for.  With- 
out it  he  is  handicapped.  There  is  some  reason 
why  Antonio  will  not  speak,  an  obligation  to 
secrecy,  as  he  himself  has  acknowledged;  but 
the  obligation  to  truth  is  greater.  An  innocent 
man  should  not  be  allowed  to  suffer  that  the 
guilty  one  may  go  free." 

"Nor  is  it  very  likely  to  happen,"  said  Father 
Gaspara.  He  talked  with  an  evident  Spanish 
accent,  and  he  had  a  strong,  penetrating  voice, 
like  one  accustomed  to  speak  with  authority. 
"No,  my  dear  young  lady.  I  am  afraid  your 
enthusiasm  misleads  you.  I  will  visit  the 
Indian,  and  in  the  worst  event  prepare  him  for 
death ;  but  that  I  can  help  him  to  escape  the 
gallows  I  very  much  doubt.  I  would  do  it  if  I 
could,  for  the  sake  of  Mrs.  Leigh  and  her  ex- 
periment, which  has  been  watched  quite  curi- 
ously by  friends  of  the  Indians  in  all  parts  of 
the  country.  The  result  of  it  will  give  those 
people  satisfaction  who  repeat  that  brutal  say- 
ing, 'There  is  no  good  Indian  but  a  dead 
Indian.'  It  is  a  pity.  I  am  sorry,  indeed." 
224 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

The  padre's  words  stabbed  Dorothea  like  the 
wounds  of  malice.  It  was  hard  for  her  to  maintain 
her  composure,  and  Mrs.  Aguilar,  coming  to  her 
rescue,  changed  the  subject  of  the  conversation. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  Dorothea's  sugges- 
tion that  Antonio  received,  a  few  days  later,  a 
call  from  Father  Gaspara.  He  was  surprised  at 
the  entrance  of  a  priest  into  his  cell,  and  at  the 
first  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  fatal 
sentence  had  already  been  pronounced,  and  that 
his  visitor  had  come  to  prepare  him  for  the  end. 
Then  he  chided  himself  for  the  nervous  weak- 
ness which  such  a  fancy  evidenced.  In  reality, 
the  strain  of  suspense  was  beginning  to  tell  upon 
him.  He  pined  for  freedom  and  the  fresh  air 
of  the  hills ;  for  active  use  of  his  strong  young 
limbs,  and  something  of  human  interest  to 
occupy  his  thought.  He  was  cut  off  from  his 
kind  in  terrible  isolation ;  and  he  almost  longed 
for  the  moment  that  should  bring  the  end,  let 
it  be  what  it  might. 

The  priest  introduced  himself  and  explained 
the  reason  of  his  visit.  "You  are  one  of  my 
flock,"  he  said.  "I  read  the  funeral  service 
over  your  mother,  and  I  baptized  you.  I  also 
knew  your  patroness,  Mrs.  Leigh." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name  Antonio's  face 
brightened. 

225 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  am  glad  that  she  is  not  now  alive,"  con- 
tinued the  padre.  "This  would  have  been  a 
terrible  disappointment  to  her." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  said  Antonio, 
sadly.  "Yes,  it  is  well  that  she  can  not  know." 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that  before," 
replied  Father  Gaspara.  "Your  life  should 
have  been  lived  as  if  in  the  presence  of  a  cloud 
of  witnesses.  You  were  selected  as  a  represent- 
ative man.  Upon  the  success  of  Mrs.  Leigh's 
experiment  may  have  hung  the  future  of  your 
race;  who  knows?  If  you  had  made  yourself 
what  she  hoped  when  she  gave  you  your  educa- 
tion, others  might  have  been  emboldened  to 
point  to  you  and  say,  *  Behold  what  an  Indian 
may  become.  Shall  we  not  work  for  their 
advancement?  Shall  we  not  give  them  citizen- 
ship?' It  may  be  that  you  would  not  have  this 
influence  upon  the  world,  but  no  one  has  a 
right  to  do  less  than  his  best,  leaving  the  result 
with  God." 

Antonio  bent  his  head  before  this  lecture,  as 
if  before  a  tempest  from  which  he  could  not 
escape. 

'"If  you  die  upon  the  gallows,"  continued 

Father  Gaspara,  "it  will  be  well  that  Mrs.  Leigh 

was  left  in  ignorance  of  your  failure  to  fulfill 

her  hopes.     Is  there  any  chance  that  you  may 

226 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

escape?    Have  you  anything  to  say  in  your  own 
defence?" 

"Only  that  I  am  innocent,"  replied  Antonio. 

"Can  you  prove  this?" 

Antonio  shook  his  head.  "I  can  give  no  evi- 
dence as  to  the  real  criminal,"  he  said,  "not 
even  for  the  sake  of  saving  my  credit,  and  all 
that  seems  to  you  to  be  involved  in  it.  There 
are  duties  higher  than  the  duty  we  owe  to  our- 
selves and  our  reputation.  There  was  once  a 
perfect  man  who  made  himself  of  no  reputa- 
tion." 

Father  Gaspara  was  somewhat  displeased  that 
the  weapons  of  Holy  Writ  should  thus  be  turned 
against  him.  He  believed  that  the  Indian's 
education  had  made  him  only  a  hardened 
sophist. 

"If  the  worst  comes  I  will  wish  to  prepare 
you  for  death,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  remark. 
"I  hope  you  may  be  ready  to  confess." 

"I  am  not  a  Catholic,"  answered  Antonio. 
"I  should  confess  to  you  only  as  to  a  man,  and 
that  I  have  resolved  for  the  sake  of  others  not  to 
do  even  in  view  of  death." 

"I  am  sorry  then  that  I  can  not  help  you," 

said  the  padre.     "Sorry,  very  sorry,  that  you 

have  left  the  fold  in  which  you  were  placed  by 

baptism.     I  will  pray  that  your  heart  may  be 

227 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

softened,  and  that  you  may  be  restored 
to  it." 

He  looked  with  keen,  kindly  eyes  full  of  the 
shadow  of  a  real  regret  at  the  young  reprobate, 
the  possible  hope  of  his  race,  who  was  to  be  cut 
off  in  his  prime  by  the  shameful  death  of  the 
gallows;  and  he  left  him,  promising  to  repeat 
his  visit. 

This  conversation  had  not  served  to  enliven 
Antonio's  sunken  spirits.  It  pained  him  to 
think  that  his  end  must  reflect  discredit  upon 
his  patroness.  "But  she  has  the  larger  vision," 
he  said  to  himself.  "I  have  tried  to  do  my 
duty.  She  will  know  and  understand. 


" 


228 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Burke  was  pacing  his  office  floor  with  head 
bent  and  hands  clasped  behind  him,  a  favorite 
attitude  when  in  deep  reflection.  Antonio's 
trial  would  open  that  day  at  two  o'clock.  The 
young  lawyer  felt  like  a  general  who  goes  into 
battle  as  the  leader  of  a  forlorn  hope.  He 
could  foresee  no  possibility  of  success.  He  had 
traveled  far  and  near  to  secure  witnesses.  He 
had  followed  clues  which  ended  like  desert 
streams  that  sink  into  the  sand. 

"If  it  were  not  for  that  unfortunate  note  call- 
ing Jennings  to  the  gold-mine  I  should  have 
some  expectation  of  talking  over  the  jury,"  he 
thought.  "As  it  is  I  fear  I  can  not  avoid  the 
evidence  of  malice  aforethought.  No  one  can 
be  made  to  doubt  that  Antonio  struck  the  blow ; 
and  with  the  other  conclusion  he  is  already  con- 
demned. I  will  do  my  best,  but  I  never  con- 
ducted so  weak  a  case."  He  felt  the  more 
poignant  regret  since  he  had  himself  learned  to 
believe  in  his  client's  innocence.  It  was  not 
his  habit  to  allow  his  sympathies  to  outweigh  his 
judgment ;  but  the  vague  impressions  that  come 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

from  personal  association  are  evidence  decisive 
enough,  though  not  of  a  sort  to  be  formulated 
in  court. 

Burke  had  studied  Antonio's  character  with 
keen  impartiality,  and  had  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  incapable  of  planning 
deliberate  murder. 

A  tap  at  the  door  announced  visitors,  and 
Mr.  Wilson  and  his  younger  daughter  entered. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  Burke  had  seen  them 
since  the  murder,  and  all  felt  a  shade  of  uneasy 
constraint. 

"We  want  you  to  help  us,  Burke,"  said 
Mr.  Wilson,  with  an  effort  to  resume  his  old 
manner  of  intimate  cordiality.  "We  are  just 
leaving  for  San  Francisco,  and  I  have  bought 
Nellie's  ticket  with  the  rest.  We  want  to  get 
off  before  this  trial  begins ;  but  at  the  eleventh 
hour  Mrs.  Jennings  refuses  to  go.  More  than 
that,  she  insists  that  she  will  be  present  at  the 
trial.  She  seems  to  find  her  only  satisfaction  in 
the  hope  of  revenge  rather  than  justice.  Her 
mind  is  a  little  unsettled,  I  think.  I  wonder  if 
you  would  be  willing  to  try  to  influence  her." 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  be  the  last  one  for 
that,"  replied  Burke.  "She  is  very  angry  with 
me  for  undertaking  the  defence." 

"We  are  all  disappointed,  and  hurt,"  said 
230 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Bessie.  "We  thought  we  could  count  on  you 
as  a  friend  of  the  family.  After  this  we  do  not 
feel  that  there  can  be  any  sympathy  between 
us." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Burke.  "A 
lawyer  can  not  consider  personal  feelings,  or 
pick  and  choose  his  cases." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  impatiently,  "I 
understand  that  well  enough.  The  women  are 
all  wrought  up  over  it,  as  is  natural.  But  we 
must  not  miss  our  train.  My  wife  is  to  meet 
us  in  San  Francisco,  and  we  are  going  to  take 
the  steamer  to  Vancouver.  If  Nellie  still 
refuses  to  leave,  will  you  have  an  oversight  of 
her,  keep  her  from  the  trial,  if  you  can,  and  see 
that  she  does  not  make  a  display  of  her  feelings 
there." 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  Burke  promised,  and 
after  a  short  conversation,  in  which  Bessie 
refused  to  join,  Mr.  Wilson  arose  and  took 
leave,  preceded  by  his  daughter,  who  vouchsafed 
only  a  distant  farewell. 

At  lunch,  for  which  Burke  had  little  appe- 
tite, he  met  one  of  his  brethren  of  the  bar. 

"If   you  lose  your  case,  will  you  appeal?" 

asked  his  friend.     "I  suppose  if  you  choose  to 

take  advantage  of  all  possible  technicalities  you 

may  prolong  your   client's    life  two   or   three 

231 


A  SOUL  wr BRONZE 

years,  as  is  the  fashion  lately.  I  wondered  if 
you  were  prepared  to  do  this.  It  takes  money, 
for  one  thing.'1 

"As  a  rule  I  do  not  discuss  my  plans  before- 
hand," replied  Burke,  "but  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  my  client  has  forbidden  me  to 
move  for  a  new  trial  of  the  case,  or  to  attempt 
any  sort  of  stay  of  proceedings.  He  has  no 
money ;  he  does  not  wish  his  friends  to  use  any 
extraordinary  means  to  raise  money;  and  he 
wishes  the  decision  of  this  court  to  be  final,  let 
it  be  what  it  may." 

44  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  have  you  connected  with 
this  case,  Burke.  Your  reputation  has  been  a 
brilliant  one  chiefly  because  you  have  used  care 
in  the  selection  of  those  whom  you  have  de- 
fended; and  a  young  lawyer  should  consider 
that.  He  should  choose  his  clients  as  he 
chooses  his  wife.  You  will  sink  in  the  popular 
esteem  from  the  moment  you  appear  as  counsel 
for  an  Indian  murderer.  What  possible  motive 
could  lead  you  to  undertake  it?" 

"Some  one  must  defend  him,"  replied  Burke. 

"Then  let  it  not  be  a  young  man  with  a  repu- 
tation to  make.  If  you  lose  your  case  it  will 
not  advance  your  credit ;  if  you  gain  it  you  will 
incur  the  popular  ill-will,  and  it  will  stick  to 
you.  The  feeling  is  very  strong  in  town 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

against  the  murderer.  The  wife  of  the  mur- 
dered man  has  been  seen  in  the  hotel  and  on 
the  streets,  in  her  deep  mourning  with  her  white 
haggard  face,  and  the  very  sight  of  her  is  a 
piteous  appeal  for  justice.  If  you  know  what 
is  good  for  you,  you  will  not  let  her  appear  in 
court.  Let  her  fix  those  eyes  on  the  jurymen 
and  they  will  vote  for  conviction  to  a  man." 

Burke  began  to  suspect  that  this  was  Elea- 
nor's purpose  in  opposing  the  wishes  of  her 
family.  She  owed  him  a  grudge,  and  wounded 
pride  would  operate  more  forcibly  with  her  than 
regard  for  her  husband's  memory.  This  was 
an  added  source  of  uneasiness,  and  an  hour  be- 
fore the  hearing  of  his  case  Burke  sent  up  his 
card  to  Mrs.  Jennings.  He  was  at  once  ad- 
mitted to  the  parlor,  where  she  was  seated 
alone. 

"I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  until  we  met  in 
the  court-room,"  she  said,  after  greeting  him 
distantly.  "I  suppose  you  know  that  I  am  one 
of  Mr.  Bradford's  witnesses." 

"No,"  said  Burke,  in  surprise.  "I  did  not 
know  that,  nor  did  your  father,  whom  I  saw 
this  morning.  It  will  be  very  painful  for  you, 
and  very  unnecessary.  I  can  even  now  arrange 
with  Bradford  that  you  need  not  appear." 

"I  am  determined  to  be  present,"  she  re- 
233  ' 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

plied.  "It  is  quite  useless  to  discuss  the 
matter." 

"Can  I  have  no  hope  of  influencing  you?"  he 
asked. 

"You  have  no  influence  with  me,"  she 
answered.  "There  is  a  deep  chasm  forever 
between  us.  You  are  dead  to  me  as  much  as 
Sam  is." 

Antonio  was  so  weary  of  the  monotony  of  his 
imprisonment  that  he  found  relief  in  the  open- 
ing of  his  trial ;  and  took  a  sort  of  impersonal 
interest  in  the  proceedings,  as  if  it  concerned 
some  other  man,  or  as  if  he  were  benumbed  to 
the  consciousness  of  the  danger  in  which  he 
stood,  like  the  traveller  who  lies  down  in  the 
snow-drift  and  almost  welcomes  the  coming  of 
the  end. 

He  watched  the  faces  of  the  men  upon  whom 
his  fate  depended,  and  he  saw  in  their  stolid, 
unintelligent  countenances  no  recognition  of 
the  responsibility  of  their  position.  The  people 
who  crowded  the  visitors'  seats  were  idle  loung- 
ers and  women  of  the  morbidly  emotional  class 
who  attend  a  murder  trial  for  the  thrill  of  ex- 
citement which  breaks  the  dead  level  of  a  sordid 
existence. 

There  was  no  manifestation  of  sympathy  for 
234 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

him.  He  was  only  an  Indian.  When  he  went 
back  to  his  cell  its  emptiness  was  more  than 
ever  hateful  to  him.  He  wondered  if  he  should 
see  Dorothea  before  the  end.  He  did  not  dare 
to  ask  it,  but  at  night  he  slept  peacefully  and 
dreamed  of  her. 

The  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  occupied 
much  time  in  the  telling  of  their  story,  Burke 
submitting  them  to  a  minute  cross-examination 
with  no  effective  result.  In  the  first  day  or 
two  little  was  developed  that  had  not  been 
brought  to  light  in  the  preliminary  hearing; 
but  every  detail  of  the  evidence,  adroitly  manip- 
ulated by  the  prosecuting  attorney,  told  steadily 
against  the  prisoner.  Bradford  was  proud  of 
the  impregnability  of  his  case,  and  of  the  logical 
consistency  with  which  each  fact  had  been 
made  to  bear  upon  the  other,  but  he  was  care- 
less of  no  advantage  and  unrelaxing  in  vigi- 
lance, for  Burke  was  an  opponent  not  to  be 
despised. 

It  was  Bradford's  professional  creed  that  the 
judgment  is  influenced  unconsciously  by  the 
emotions,  and  that  the  dramatic  element  is  one 
that  should  never  be  neglected  in  the  conduct 
of  a  case.  Two  of  his  witnesses  had  been  chosen 
with  this  idea  in  mind,  and  the  effect  produced 
by  their  appearance  justified  his  calculations. 
235 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Mrs.  Jennings  entered  shrouded  in  crape,  an 
eloquent  example  of  widowed  devotion.  When 
she  lifted  her  veil  and  turned  her  appealing 
eyes  from  judge  to  jury,  there  was  something  in 
the  wild  fervor  of  the  look  which  moved  the 
heart  from  its  judicial  equilibrium.  Her  state- 
ment was  of  little  consequence,  but  the  manner 
of  its  utterance — the  voice  breaking  into  a  sob, 
the  little  hand  clenched  in  an  appeal  for  justice — 
told  powerfully  upon  her  hearers. 

When  she  left  the  court-room,  an  Indian 
woman  was  called  into  the  witness-box.  An- 
tonio started  as  he  recognized  his  sister.  Marta 
was  as  haggard  and  worn  with  grief  as  if  she 
herself  stood  in  peril  of  death.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  her  brother,  while  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheeks. 

Burke  could  not  conceal  his  astonishment  at 
this  appearance,  and  he  looked  at  Bradford  with 
the  keen  defiance  of  the  duellist  who  meets  an 
unexpected  coup.  It  had  been  Burke 's  decision 
that  Marta's  absence  was  advisable  at  this  time, 
and  he  had  contrived  that  she  should  spend  a 
fortnight  in  the  shelter  of  her  cousin's  house  in 
the  remote  Indian  village  of  Leona,  where  she 
would  be  far  from  the  rumors  of  the  trial,  and 
free  from  the  necessity  of  listening  or  replying 
to  painful  suggestions. 

236 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  roused  himself  now  to  defeat  Bradford's 
purpose,  resorting  to  every  legal  device  of 
objection,  appeal  and  counter-question  to  shield 
the  helplessly  harassed  victim  of  the  prosecu- 
tion's cross-examination.  But  Bradford  knew 
his  witness  well.  Marta's  exaggerated  fear  of 
the  power  of  the  law,  her  desire  to  propitiate  it 
by  any  sacrifice,  her  adoring  affection  for  her 
brother,  these  feelings,  mingled,  opposed,  con- 
fused, in  her  tortured  and  ignorant  mind,  were 
played  upon  unfeelingly  until  she  was  led  into  a 
wild  incongruity  of  admission,  implication  and 
denial. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  scored  the  points  he 
made  and  bade  the  jury  note  them.  Burke, 
who  was  pale  to  the  lips,  protested  in  vain. 
The  court  was  with  the  prosecution.  Marta 
was  led  weeping  from  the  box,  having  declared 
that  her  brother,  the  noblest  of  men,  had  always 
been  her  truest  friend,  that  he  had  hated  her 
betrayer,  and  had  one  day  expressed  a  wish  that 
he  might  kill  him.  Beyond  this  she  defied 
judge  and  jury,  appealed  to  our  Lady  in 
heaven,  was  ready  to  lay  down  her  life,  to  be 
cut  to  pieces  inch  by  inch,  to  submit  to  any 
proof — in  protestation  of  Antonio's  innocence. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Burke  that  time  did 
not  allow  the  calling  of  a  witness  for  the  defence 
237 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

until  the  morning ;  and,  as  Bradford  had  nicely 
calculated,  the  impression  thus  made  must 
remain  till  then  uncombated.  Burke  was  not 
accustomed  to  defeat,  and  he  smarted  under  it. 

Antonio  did  not  sleep  that  night.  He  felt 
that  his  case  was  hopeless,  and  for  the  first  time 
an  unconquerable  longing  for  freedom  and  for 
life  awoke  within  him.  It  was  the  cry  of  his 
strong  young  manhood  outraged  by  the  prospect 
of  so  cruel  an  end.  He  flung  himself  upon  his 
narrow  bed  and  wept  and  groaned,  torn  by  the 
storm  of  feeling.  A  strong  man's  tears  are  ter- 
rible. In  them  there  is  no  healing,  but  only 
bitterness  and  despair. 

At  dawn  he  rose,  ashamed  to  face  the  sun- 
light, calling  himself  a  coward,  and  wondering 
whether  a  woman's  soul  had  taken  possession  of 
his  body.  The  warden  with  his  breakfast 
brought  him  a  small  box  and  grinned  as  he 
handed  it  to  him. 

* 'Flowers,  by  the  smell,"  he  remarked. 
"Some  woman  sent  'em,  I'll  be  bound.  It's 
wonderful  what  a  notion  women  have  of  send- 
ing flowers  to  murderers.  The  last  one  we 
hanged  here,  and  he  was  no  beauty  either,  you 
might  say  he  was  buried  in  flowers." 

Antonio  waited  till  he  was  alone,  and  then 
opened  the  box  with  trembling  fingers.  Upon 
238 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

a  bed  of  lemon  blossoms  whose  fragrance  filled 
the  cell  lay  a  folded  paper  containing  these 
words:  "Be  brave,  Antonio.  There  are  worse 
things  than  to  suffer  innocently.  Death  is 
swallowed  up  in  the  victory  of  faith.  There  is 
no  shame  except  the  shame  of  sin.  Judge  and 
jury  may  make  a  mistake,  but  your  heart 
knows  and  I  know  that  you  are  innocent. 
Therefore,  my  friend,  be  brave." 

No  name  was  signed,  but  Antonio  knew  the 
writer,  and  he  kissed  the  words  with  a  great 
uplifting  of  the  heart.  This  was  what  he 
needed.  This  was  that  for  which  he  had  been 
waiting,  the  lack  of  which  had  made  him 
recreant.  To  doubt  her  faith  in  him  was  to  des- 
pair. Once  sure  of  that  he  was  a  man  strong  to 
face  and  conquer  the  worst  that  life  can  send. 

He  placed  the  note  close  to  his  heart,  he 
kissed  the  flowers  and  laid  his  face  upon  them 
and  drank  their  fragrance  as  a  solace  to  his  soul. 
It  was  as  if  Dorothea  herself  were  near  him. 
He  smiled  with  calm  confidence  as  he  would 
have  smiled  to  reassure  her  if  he  could  have  met 
her  eyes. 

"I  will  be  brave,"  he  said.  "You  need  not 
fear  for  me  after  this.  A  knight  with  his 
lady's  favor  on  his  heart  will  go  gladly  down 
among  the  lions." 

239 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

The  testimony  for  the  defence  began  with 
some  show  of  hope  for  Antonio.  Burke  had 
several  witnesses  to  testify  to  the  visit  to  Casa 
Blanca,  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  of  the 
mysterious  stranger  who  had  suddenly  disap- 
peared. He  had  been  traced  to  the  hotel  in 
town  where  he  had  spent  the  preceding  night. 
His  name  was  found  upon  the  register  as  Wil- 
liam Thompson.  The  precautions  which  Fair- 
fax had  taken  to  conceal  his  identity  made  any 
clue  difficult  to  follow. 

A  porter  at  the  hotel  testified  that  the 
stranger  had  evidently  wished  to  escape  notice. 
His  baggage  consisted  only  of  a  travelling  case, 
which  he  carried  in  his  hand.  The  porter  had 
observed  that  the  numerous  labels  with  which 
this  case  had  once  been  covered  had  been 
removed. 

When  the  horse  was  recovered  the  carriage 
was  found  to  be  demolished  by  the  runaway, 
and  the  travelling  case,  together  with  the  whip 
and  lap -robe,  had  disappeared,  having  evidently 
been  appropriated  by  some  chance  thief. 

The  foreign-looking  belt  with  the  silver 
buckle  was  alluded  to.  The  stiletto  with  the 
wrought  silver  handle  was  produced,  and  a  pos- 
sible resemblance  was  detected  between  it  and 
the  buckle  of  the  belt. 

240 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Witnesses  from  among  the  Indians  and  other 
acquaintances  of  Antonio  testified  that  they  had 
never  seen  such  a  weapon  in  the  possession  of 
the  prisoner. 

The  weight  of  evidence  remained  in  favor  of 
the  prosecution.  Bradford  made  a  short  plea  in 
which  every  word  told.  He  pitilessly  exposed 
the  weakness  of  the  defence.  He  showed  how  a 
deep-rooted  animosity  had  existed  in  the  mind 
of  the  prisoner  against  the  postmaster,  from  the 
day  of  his  arrival  at  Casa  Blanca.  He  would 
not  deny  that  the  motive  was  a  powerful  one. 
The  prisoner  had  suffered  family  wrongs,  but  it 
was  not  given  to  him  to  avenge  such  wrongs. 

An  emotional  nature  had  been  carried  off  its 
balance,  but  there  was  nothing  emotional  in  the 
method  of  the  deed.  It  was  characterized  by 
cold-blooded  malice.  A  plot  was  laid.  Jen- 
nings was  decoyed  to  a  lonely  spot.  The  sur- 
prise had  been  complete.  The  Indian  had 
sprung  upon  him  from  the  rear,  overborne  him 
in  the  fury  of  his  attack,  and  plunged  a  knife 
into  the  spot  where  death  would  be  the  certain 
result  of  the  blow. 

The   postmaster    had    gone    armed    from  a 

habit  of  caution;   but  suspecting  nothing  from 

the  messenger  who  had  brought  the  note,  he 

had  allowed  his  close  approach.     He  had  had  no 

241 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

opportunity  to  defend  himself,  but  had  sud- 
denly been  sent  into  eternity  with  all  his  sins 
upon  his  head.  Cold-blooded  deliberation  had 
characterized  each  feature  of  this  revolting 
crime.  The  attorney  left  justice  in  the  hands 
of  intelligent  men  to  whom  blood  thus  shed  by 
treachery  should  not  cry  out  in  vain. 

The  speech  produced  a  great  sensation.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  applause  was  repressed 
among  the  spectators. 

As  Burke  began  his  plea,  Dorothea  and  her 
aunt  entered  the  court-room  and  took  the  seats 
which  had  been  reserved  for  them  among  the 
visitors.  Antonio  met  Dorothea's  eyes.  They 
were  full  of  heroic  encouragement.  Mrs. 
Aguilar  was  thickly  veiled  to  hide  her  tears. 

Burke  spoke  eloquently  and  well,  but  he 
spoke  on  a  losing  side.  He  needed  only  the 
link  that  should  connect  the  stranger  with  the 
crime,  but  the  lack  of  it  was  fatally  evident. 
He  reminded  the  jury  of  the  circumstantial 
nature  of  the  evidence.  No  eye  had  seen  the 
prisoner  commit  the  crime.  As  for  motive, 
there  were  various  motives  in  many  minds  that 
might  be  adduced  in  this  connection,  for  the 
dead  man  had  been  almost  universally  hated. 
It  was  not  his  purpose  to  speak  evil  of  the  dead ; 
but  to  remind  them  that  it  was  not  as  if  a  man 
243 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

of  blameless  life  had  perished,  or  a  man  so 
popular  that  admitted  hatred  would  fasten  sus- 
picion upon  an  enemy. 

Who  was  this  mysterious  stranger  who  had 
come  and  gone  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  who 
had  been  traced  from  the  time  he  had  left  town 
to  the  very  time  of  the  commission  of  the  mur- 
der, but  who  had  baffled  detection  by  the  elab- 
orate preparations  he  had  made  to  escape  it? 
Not  until  this  man  had  been  found  and  enabled 
to  defend  himself  from  the  suspicion  which 
must  attach  to  such  evidence  of  guilt  as  secrecy 
implies,  should  another  man,  the  horrified  wit- 
ness of  the  crime,  be  accused  of  complicity  in 
it,  much  less  be  suspected  as  the  principal. 
The  stranger  arrives  at  Casa  Blanca,  following 
some  well-matured  and  pre-determined  plan. 
The  Indian  met  by  chance  becomes  his  mes- 
senger. The  crime  is  done,  and  the  murderer 
escapes  unpursued.  The  Indian,  who  remains 
with  the  daring  of  innocence  alone  with  the 
dead,  bends  over  the  corpse  in  pity  and  closes 
the  glazed  eyes.  The  man  is  dead  whom  he, 
with  many  others  who  had  suffered  injustice  or 
abuse  at  his  hands,  had  more  than  once  had 
reason  to  wish  punished;  but  he  is  punished  by 
another  hand.  Only  pity  remains.  Strong  in 
innocence,  he  allows  himself  to  be  bound  and 
243 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

committed,  relying  upon  the  justice  of  that  law 
which  condemns  no  man  until  crime  is  proved 
against  him.  What  has  been  proved  in  this 
case  that  would  not  as  well  apply  to  the  stranger 
if  at  this  moment  he  should  present  himself  here 
at  the  bar  of  justice  confessing  his  guilt?  Shall 
a  man  be  sent  into  eternity  to  answer  for  an- 
other's crime  simply  because  the  cry  for  ven- 
geance would  demand  a  victim,  some  victim, 
any  victim,  to  satisfy  a  popular  clamor?  Let 
this  clamor  die  into  silence.  Let  the  voices  of 
right  and  reason  prevail ;  and  let  no  man  give 
consent  to  a  sentence  which  he  would  not 
willingly  incur  if  chance  should  make  him  the 
solitary  spectator  of  a  fearful  crime. 

The  closing  arguments  of  the  state  were  terse 
and  effectual;  the  judge's  charge  was  a  brief 
resume  of  the  law  applicable  to  the  case;  then 
came  the  moment  when  the  jury  retired  to 
make  their  conclusion  of  life  or  death  for  the 
prisoner.  Dorothea's  heart  beat  to  suffocation. 
Moments  seemed  like  hours,  and  she  had  lived 
ages  in  the  time  that  elapsed  before  the  return 
of  the  foreman  to  announce  the  verdict  which 
had  in  reality  been  reached  with  unusual 
celerity. 

The  verdict  was:  " Guilty  of  murder  in  the 
first  degree." 

244 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Antonio's  eyes  met  Dorothea's.  They  said  to 
her,  "Be  brave  for  my  sake.  I  am  not  afraid." 

Dorothea's  spoke  to  him.  Their  message 
was:  "Be  brave  for  my  sake.  I  will  help  you 
by  my  courage." 

Mrs.  Aguilar  fainted  away.  In  the  confusion 
consequent  upon  her  removal  into  the  open  air, 
Burke  stood  by  Dorothea  and  took  her  hand. 
"The  sentence  will  be  given  Tuesday,"  he  said. 
"I  should  prefer  that  you  did  not  hear  it." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Dorothea  quietly. 
"My  aunt  is  better  now,  and  Mrs.  Hereford  is 
waiting  for  us  in  her  carriage.  We  are  going  to 
spend  some  time  at  Magnolia  ranch." 

"lam  glad  to  have  you  there,"  he  replied. 
"I  am  glad  you  are  so  strong.  I  hope  you  will 
keep  up  for  my  sake." 

"I  will  keep  up,"  she  answered,  and  she 
allowed  him  to  press  her  hand  and  say  his  fare- 
wells almost  unanswered.  Her  eyes  regarded 
him,  but  her  thoughts  were  far  away. 

As  they  drove  through  the  fragrant  twilight 
beside  the  shining  water,  the  evening  star  send- 
ing a  tremulous  path  of  light  across  the  western 
waves,  the  mountains  rising  afar  in  the  glamour 
of  purple  mists,  Dorothea  saw  only  a  manly 
figure  standing  alone  to  hear  the  terrible  words : 
"To  be  hung  by  the  neck  till  he  is  dead."  She 
245 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

saw  the  gallows,  and  a  shapely  head  crowned 
with  the  fatal  black  cap.  She  saw  the  tightened 
noose,  the  quivering  limbs. 

The  world  might  deck  itself  with  stars  and 
purple  sunsets.  There  was  no  joy  that  could 
atone  for  its  injustices. 


246 


CHAPTER    XVII 

Burke  did  not  intrude  upon  Dorothea.  He 
felt  that  time  and  absence  might  be  his  most 
powerful  allies.  By  his  advice  Mrs.  Hereford 
had  taken  her  guest  to  a  seaside  resort  far 
enough  from  the  associations  of  the  last  few 
months  to  remove  Dorothea  into  a  new  sphere 
of  thought.  Mrs.  Aguilar  returned  to  her 
school,  and  Burke  was  well  content  that  her 
influence  should  be  for  the  time  in  abeyance. 
He  felt  that  Dorothea  had  been  under  a  potent 
spell  which  had  rapt  her  into  a  world  of  un- 
realities where  the  conventions  of  ordinary  life 
had  no  force ;  and  it  would  be  well  for  her  that 
this  dream  world  should  fade  into  the  light  of 
common  day.  He  had  stood  near  Antonio  when 
sentence  was  pronounced ;  he  had  followed  him 
to  press  his  hand  in  sympathy ;  and  he  had  then 
tried  to  take  up  the  interrupted  current  of  daily 
affairs,  finding  it  difficult  to  give  them  his 
attention. 

He  avoided  his  friends  who  might  discuss  the 
subject  of  his  thoughts.  He  changed  the  hour 
of  his  meals  to  a  time  at  which  the  restaurant 
247 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

was  unfrequented ;  and  by  this  means  he  found 
himself  alone  at  table  one  evening  with  a  man 
who  had  eagerly  followed  his  movements  and  at 
last  seated  himself  near  him  with  the  evident 
purpose  of  entering  into  conversation. 

"Mr.  Burke?"  asked  the  stranger.  "I  have 
been  trying  to  meet  you  ever  since  I  read  the 
paper  containing  the  account  of  the  trial  of  the 
Indian  for  murder,  and  I  natter  myself  that  I 
am  the  man  you  were  looking  for  without  know- 
ing it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Burke. 

"Well,  I  have  a  piece  of  evidence  that  would 
have  helped  your  case.  I  don't  know  but  that 
you  might  get  a  new  hearing  on  the  strength 
of  it." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Burke,  with  eager 
interest. 

"My  name  is  Josiah  Jackson,"  said  the 
stranger.  "I'm  a  commission  merchant  at 
Mazatlan,  and  I  often  run  up  and  down  on 
these  coast  steamers.  The  last  time  I  landed 
here  was  on  the  nineteenth  of  September,  the 
day  but  one  before  this  murder  was  committed, 
and  I  sold  a  dagger  like  the  one  described  in 
this  paper  here  to  a  man  on  board  the  steamer 
who  would  answer  well  enough  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  man  you  were  trying  to  find.  Ilis 
248 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

name,  however,  was  John  Seymour,  not  William 
Thompson.  Both  may  have  been  aliases.  He 
was  not  dressed  in  a  rough  outing  suit,  but  quite 
richly,  like  a  man  of  wealth.  He  looked  like  a 
gentleman,  and  he  smoked  first-class  cigars. 
He  was  an  unsociable  chap,  and  kept  off  by  him- 
self until  the  very  last  day,  when  he  noticed  me 
and  the  Spanish  dagger  that  I  was  using  as  a 
paper-cutter.  It  is  of  the  best  Ferrara  steel, 
and  will  bend  like  a  willow  wand.  He  asked 
me  to  sell  it  to  him;  said  he  was  collecting 
curious  weapons,  and  had  a  South  American 
belt  with  a  silver  buckle  made  to  reproduce  the 
sacred  stone  of  the  Incas  which  would  suit  the 
silver  handle  and  sheath  to  a  T.  As  he  had  set 
his  heart  on  it  I  let  him  have  it  for  a  good 
price." 

4 'You  would  recognize  the  dagger?" 

"You  bet,"  was  the  reply. 

Burke  left  his  supper  untasted.  "Come  with 
me,"  he  said  briefly.  "I  will  make  it  worth 
your  while." 

"I  will  do  it  just  to  satisfy  my  curiosity," 
replied  Mr.  Jackson. 

As   they  went    he    minutely   described    the 

weapon,  particularizing  a  small  notch   in  the 

blade  and  relating  the  history  connected  with 

it.      When  Burke  drew  the  dagger  from  his 

249 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

desk  and  held  it  before  his  eyes  the  identifica- 
tion was  complete. 

"It  only  remains  to  find  the  sheath,"  said 
Mr.  Jackson,  and  he  drew  a  picture  of  it  with 
the  skill  of  a  practiced  draughtsman,  added 
some  verbal  memoranda  to  the  sketch,  and 
handed  it  to  Burke  triumphantly. 

"With  that  little  bit  of  information  you 
might  have  come  out  better, ' '  he  said. 

"This  is  extremely  important,  Mr.  Jackson," 
said  Burke,  "and  I  thank  you  heartily.  If  you 
will  leave  me  your  address  I  will  send  for  you  if 
I  should  need  you  as  a  witness.  I  suppose  I 
may  count  on  you?" 

"I'll  be  glad  to  help  you  out,"  he  answered. 
4 'One  Indian  more  or  less  in  the  world  don't 
signify;  but  I'd  really  like  to  know  if  that  high- 
bred, unsociable  chap  was  planning  a  murder  all 
the  time  he  was  smoking  his  cigars." 

Antonio  heard  with  alarm  that  the  identifica- 
tion of  the  dagger  pointed  to  that  of  the  mur- 
derer. He  absolutely  refused  to  allow  his 
lawyer  to  petition  for  a  new  trial.  His  mind 
was  attuned  to  the  heroic  serenity  of  a  martyr 
inspired  by  his  faith  to  die  with  smiling  lips. 
To  waver  in  his  purpose  would  be  to  falter  in 
devotion  to  Dorothea.  He  realized  more  prac- 
tically than  before  the  nature  of  that  disgrace 
250 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

and  contumely,  from  association  with  which  he 
had  delivered  her.  Through  Burke  he  had 
begged  her  not  to  visit  him  before  the  end. 
"She  must  not  be  seen  speaking  to  an  Indian 
convict,"  he  had  said,  and  Burke  had  agreed 
with  him. 

Failing  to  persuade  his  unreasonable  client, 
Burke  did  not  communicate  to  him  another 
possibility  which  he  had  been  considering,  and 
without  announcing  his  intention  he  left  on  the 
night  train  for  Sacramento.  The  Governor's 
wife  was  his  cousin.  This  was  a  fact  of  minor 
importance  where  abstract  justice  was  con- 
cerned. The  Govirnor  was  not  a  man  to  yield 
to  personal  influence,  least  of  all  to  feminine 
persuasions,  but  his  wife  was  a  woman  of  infinite 
tact,  and  by  those  indirect  methods  which 
clever  women  can  employ  unsuspected,  she  was 
able  to  advance  causes  which  she  had  deeply  at 
heart,  even  in  the  realm  of  politics.  Burke's 
family  was  one  of  the  most  influential  in  the 
state,  with  an  enviable  record  of  public  services. 
He  was  the  last  survivor  in  his  line,  but  his 
name  had  weight,  and  his  father's  memory  was 
still  a  power  to  conjure  with  in  a  society  warm- 
hearted enough  to  preserve  the  ties  of  friendship 
beyond  one  generation. 

Burke  was  enabled  to  reach  the  Governor's 
251 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ear.  He  was  given  such  time  as  was  needed  for 
the  full  presentation  of  the  subject  he  had  at 
heart.  The  Governor  listened  with  strict 
impartiality;  yefc,  in  spite  of  himself,  his  knowl- 
edge of  Burke 's  absolute  honesty  and  unemo- 
tional rectitude  led  him  to  yield  an  easier 
credence  to  his  view  of  the  case.  He  entered 
into  it  heart  and  soul.  It  possessed  peculiar 
features  which  interested  him.  He  sat  up  at 
night  alone  reviewing  the  evidence. 

Burke  did  not  dare  to  urge  haste.  He  spent 
a  couple  of  weeks  with  his  cousin,  being  feasted 
and  lionized,  and  condemned  to  dance  attend- 
ance at  balls,  concerts  and  public  receptions. 
He  became  decidedly  popular  and  was  offered  a 
lucrative  position  in  the  state  government  by 
the  father  of  one  of  the  pretty  girls  with  whom 
he  danced.  There  are  avenues  of  advancement 
open  to  a  man  who  is  related  to  the  Governor, 
and  has  handsome  brown  eyes  which  say  far 
more  than  he  intends. 

But  Burke's  heart  was  with  Dorothea  by  the 
seashore,  and  his  thoughts  were  often  with 
Antonio  in  his  cell.  He  was  impatient  for 
release ;  and  at  last  the  Governor  admitted  him 
to  a  private  interview. 

"I  have  taken  all  the  time  you  have  given 
me,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you  are  growing  as 
252 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

nervous  as  if  your  own  neck  was  in  peril. 
Well,  I  can  not  grant  a  pardon.  I  do  not  con- 
sider myself  justified  by  the  evidence.  How  did 
the  Indian  become  possessed  of  the  dagger,  still 
supposing  that  he  committed  the  crime?  The 
stranger  disappeared.  Who  can  say  that  he  was 
not  himself  murdered  and  robbed  in  the  moun- 
tains? The  Indians  were  most  of  them  drunk 
that  day.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible, 
quite  possible,  that  your  suppositions  are  correct. 
We  can  not  proceed  upon  a  mere  supposition ; 
but  I  do  feel  justified  in  commuting  the  sentence 
from  hanging  to  imprisonment  for  life.  Person- 
ally I  am  opposed  to  capital  punishment;  and 
such  a  sentence  satisfies  my  idea  of  extreme  jus- 
tice. I  hope  it  will  in  a  measure  satisfy  you." 

Burke  expressed  his  gratitude.  As  a  lawyer 
this  was  as  much  as  he  had  dared  to  hope.  He 
was  so  full  of  joy  in  his  success  and  in  the  pros- 
pect of  his  return  to  Dorothea  with  the  news, 
that  he  showed  far  less  sorrow  than  was  fitting 
in  his  parting  with  the  pretty  girl,  who  forth- 
with dismissed  him  not  unregretted  from  her 
thoughts. 

Father  Gaspara  was  with  Antonio  in  his  dis- 
mal cell  when  the  news  of  the  commutation  of 
the    sentence    reached    him,   grudgingly    an- 
253 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

nounced  by  the  warden,  who  felt  the  chagrin  of 
a  stage  manager  whose  star  actor  disappoints 
him  at  the  eleventh  hour,  requiring  the  return 
of  all  tickets  at  the  door.  Several  hundred 
spectators  would  be  disappointed  in  a  promised 
sensation.  "And  what's  the  good  of  it?"  he 
queried.  "A  man  might  as  well  be  dead  as 
buried  alive  in  a  prison." 

Father  Gaspara  wrung  Antonio's  hand  with 
kindly  sympathy,  feeling  an  emotion  which  sur- 
prised himself.  This  Indian  heretic  had  won 
the  heart  of  the  soldier-like  priest  by  the  genu- 
ine manliness  of  his  patience.  "I  prayed  that 
you  might  be  given  space  to  repent  and  to  find 
the  way  home  into  the  Church,"  he  said. 
"Now  you  will  have  time,  a  lifetime,  for 
thought  and  reflection.  There  may  be  grace, 
not  punishment,  in  that." 

Antonio  was  glad.  The  instinct  of  youthful 
strength  rejoiced  in  the  grant  of  a  new  life,  any 
life,  the  narrowest,  most  fettered,  in  exchange 
for  the  cruel  ignominy  of  the  halter  and  the 
convict's  grave.  His  thoughts  sang  a  pgean  of 
joy  as  he  considered  Dorothea's  satisfaction. 
She  had  escaped  a  lifelong  regret.  He  had 
been  willing  to  give  his  life  that  she  might  be 
free  from  an  inherited  curse  which  would  brand 
her  and  her  children  with  disgrace,  but  his  own 
254 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

death  upon  the  gallows,  he  had  foreseen,  would 
cast  a  haunting  shadow  into  the  background  of 
her  happiest  thought.  Now  she  would  be  able 
to  forget  him.  The  convict  in  a  distant  prison 
would  have  her  sympathy,  but  his  image  would 
fade  little  by  little  from  the  heart  that  would  be 
full  of  other  loves  and  interests.  Antonio  had 
walked  too  far  within  the  shadows  of  the  dark 
valley  to  feel  a  selfish  sadness  upon  reaching 
this  conclusion.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  up- 
lifted as  far  beyond  the  things  of  earth  as  if 
he  had  already  died,  and  could  survey  the 
future  with  the  clear  vision  of  a  disembodied 
spirit. 

He  rejoiced  in  the  success  of  the  sacrifice 
which  he  had  made.  Each  day  that  he  should 
spend  in  prison  would  be  a  day  dedicated  to  her 
service.  His  life  could  not  be  useless,  vague 
and  empty  lived  in  the  inspiration  of  this  con- 
sciousness. 

Dorothea  was  seated  on  the  sand  watching  the 
waves  of  the  surf  in  their  slow  retreat  across 
the  shelving  beach,  where  they  spread  out  a 
wide  strip  of  foam  like  a  flounce  of  delicate  lace 
upon  the  swaying  garment  of  a  Nereid  advanced 
and  withdrawn  to  the  rhythm  of  her  dancing 
feet.  There  was  a  peachy  bloom  in  the  eky, 
255 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

and  the  water  shone  with  opalescent  tints,  melt- 
ing into  the  soft  color  of  the  distant  headlands. 
In  front  of  her  the  sky-line  was  broken  here  and 
there  by  a  white  sail,  receding  into  the  space 
beyond  the  curving  shoulder  of  the  ocean. 

She  was  sunk  in  a  melancholy  revery,  and 
glad  of  loneliness  and  the  wide  outlook  over  the 
water.  There  is  consolation  in  vast  spaces 
where  the  soul  can  lose  itself  in  a  realization  of 
the  pettiness  of  life's  grinding  cares. 

"Like  as  the  waves  make  to  the  pebbly  shore, 
so  do  our  moments  hasten  to  their  end."  These 
words  sang  themselves  over  and  over  in  her 
mind.  Yes,  there  was  an  end  to  everything, 
to  joy,  and  grief,  and  life,  and  love,  and  every 
passion  of  the  restless  human  heart,  beating  as 
ineffectually  against  the  barriers  of  fate  as  these 
fretted  waves  against  the  shore. 

There  was  a  step  upon  the  gravel,  and 
Dorothea  looked  up  in  surprise  as  Burke 's 
voice  spoke  her  name.  He  threw  himself  beside 
her  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  allowing 
her  time  to  recover  her  composure  before  he 
met  her  eyes. 

"I  bring  good  news,"  he  said  quickly. 
"The  sentence  is  commuted  to  life  imprison- 
ment." 

To  his  surprise  Dorothea  burst  into  tears. 
256 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"It  is  almost  as  cruel,"  she  said,  "and  quite  as 
unjust.  He  is  innocent." 

"But  that  can  not  be  proved,"  said  Burke. 
"I  have  worked  hard  to  save  him,  and  this  is 
the  best  that  I  could  do." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered.  "It  was  good 
of  you." 

Her  tone  and  the  manner  in  which  she 
accepted  his  work,  thinking  far  less  of  him 
than  of  Antonio,  gave  Burke  a  keen  pang  of 
jealousy.  He  rose  and  walked  along  the  shore 
as  if  absorbingly  interested  in  the  shells  and 
seaweed  tossed  out  of  reach  of  the  ebbing  tide, 
until,  at  a  distance  from  Dorothea,  he  seated 
himself  upon  a  rock  and  began  flinging  pebbles 
into  the  sea.  His  thoughts  were  in  a  tumult. 
He  had  been  patient,  but  patience  was  at  an 
end.  The  personal  side  of  love,  its  eager  de- 
mands, its  imperious  desires,  absorbed  him; 
and  he  felt  self-pity  and  a  deep  chagrin. 

Dorothea  watched  him  wonderingly  at  first, 
then,  with  a  quick  comprehension  of  his  mood, 
she  followed  him  and  stood  beside  him. 

"My  friend,  I  have  done  you  an  injustice," 
she  said,  in  a  constrained  voice.  "I  made  you 
a  promise  which  I  can  not  keep.  I  won  your 
assistance  under  false  pretences.  I  have  con- 
ceded too  much,  and  I  have  been  false  to  you. 
257 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

There  is  the  ring  you  gave  me.  I  ask  my  free- 
dom and  I  give  you  yours." 

Burke  took  the  ring,  looked  at  it  as  it  lay 
within  his  palm,  looked  up  into  Dorothea's  eyes ; 
then  turned  and  with  a  quick  motion  flung  the 
shining  circlet  into  the  sea  after  the  pebbles. 
Dorothea  regarded  him  with  grave  wonder,  as 
one  might  observe  the  action  of  a  pettish  child. 

"You  have  reason  to  be  angry,"  she  said. 
"I  have  treated  you  very  badly.  I  humbly  ask 
your  pardon ;  but  I  meant  no  harm.  I  did  not 
know  that  my  heart  would  turn  to  dust  and 
ashes.  I  can  never  love  you,  and  you  would  not 
wish  a  wife  who  gave  only  duty." 

"No,  no,"  said  Burke.  "I  wish  you,  heart 
and  soul,  all  for  my  own.  I  wonder  how  I 
could  be  so  patient,  could  consent  to  such  an 
unnatural  position."  Here  he  paused,  re- 
membering the  unselfish  impulse  which  had 
moved  him  to  offer  her  the  protection  of  his 
name.  He  had  descended  far  from  that  lofty 
plane.  He  hesitated,  regretting  his  words ;  but 
Dorothea  had  turned  away. 

"I  thank  you  heartily  for  all  your  kindness  to 
me  and  to  Antonio,"  she  said,  over  her 
shoulder. 

At  the  sound  of  this  name  Burke  drew  his 
brows  together  into  a  frown,  as  if  a  physical 
258 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

pain  had  pierced  his  heart.  He  did  not  move 
nor  speak,  but  sat  with  bent  head,  intently 
watching  the  shining  gravel  as  if  looking  among 
it  for  the  return  of  the  diamond  which  he  had 
flung  into  the  waves. 


259 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

Burke  returned  to  Hilton  and  resumed  his 
practice  in  the  district,  and  his  attendance  upon 
the  court  in  town.  He  found  that  he  had  lost 
the  popularity  which  is  conditional  upon  phe- 
nomenal success,  and  that  he  had  a  certain 
amount  of  prejudice  to  live  down;  but  with 
dogged  fidelity  of  purpose  he  set  himself  to  this 
end.  He  realized  that  youth  was  over,  and  was 
conscious  of  his  three  or  four  gray  hairs.  At 
such  a  time  business  possesses  an  absorbing 
interest.  A  man  takes  to  it  as  he  might  take  to 
drink  to  escape  reflection. 

Hard  work  well  directed  never  fails  of  its  end. 
He  soon  regained  his  prestige,  and  was  regarded 
as  a  rising  man.  His  friends  urged  him  to  live  in 
town,  considering  that  he  was  buried  in  a  little 
country  place.  When  he  was  in  the  city  he 
was  made  much  of,  and  invited  about,  and 
maids  and  widows,  with  shy  persistence,  set 
their  caps  for  him.  It  was  universally  con- 
ceded that  such  a  man  should  not  be  allowed  to 
die  a  bachelor. 

Habit,  which  crystallizes  fast  at  thirty-five, 
261 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

attached  Burke  to  Hilton  and  its  neighborhood. 
When  Mr.  Wilson  sold  the  place  which  he  had 
long  since  deserted,  Burke  became  the  pur- 
chaser. Its  former  owners  now  lived  in  San 
Francisco.  Bessie  was  married,  and  Mrs.  Jen- 
nings, who  had  become  mildly  deranged,  was  in 
a  private  sanitarium,  her  recovery  not  being 
considered  hopeless. 

As  owner  of  Casa  Blanca,  Burke  withdrew 
the  suit  from  the  superior  court  against  the 
Indians ;  and  they  were  allowed  to  exist  undis- 
turbed upon  the  barren  reservation,  where  each 
year  the  ratio  of  deaths  exceeded  that  of  births, 
and  the  slow  process  of  the  extermination  of  the 
race  continued.  Mrs.  Aguilar's  health  having 
failed,  she  had  taken  a  reluctant  farewell  of  her 
charges,  and  had  gone  to  live  with  a  relative 
upon  a  ranch  near  the  coast.  Her  place  was 
supplied  by  a  young  woman  who  had  red  hair, 
wore  eye-glasses,  and  knew  no  Spanish,  which 
conjunction  of  circumstances  made  her  univer- 
sally unpopular. 

In  his  leisure  hours  Burke  devoted  himself  in 
his  new  character  of  land-owner  to  the  improve- 
ment of  his  property.  He  remodelled  and 
refurnished  the  house;  replanted  the  grounds, 
and  by  the  introduction  of  an  elaborate  irrigat- 
ing system  he  transformed  the  garden  into  a 
263 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

wilderness  of  palms  and  roses.  His  orchards 
doubled  their  yield  of  plums  and  peaches,  apri- 
cots and  figs.  His  vineyard  spread  where  the 
chaparral  had  once  grown  undisturbed ;  and  the 
winery  which  he  started,  under  the  direction  of 
an  Italian  foreman,  bade  fair  to  gain  a  reputa- 
tion for  its  vintage. 

Mrs.  Hereford  was  hia  regular  correspondent, 
and  through  her  he  learned  of  Dorothea's  move- 
ments. She  was  travelling  abroad  with  friends, 
but  had  completed  her  three  years'  tour  and  was 
soon  to  return  to  California.  Burke  thought  of 
her  constantly.  He  kept  her  photograph  in  a 
conspicuous  place  upon  his  dressing-table. 
When  he  planned  for  the  future,  she  was  fore- 
most in  his  dreams.  When  he  fancied  the 
pressure  of  children's  forms  against  his  shoul- 
der, it  was  with  her  eyes  that  they  regarded 
him. 

One  day  in  early  spring  he  was  strolling 
over  the  mesas  of  Casa  Blanca,  enjoying  the 
exhilarating  quality  of  the  air,  which  was  of  a 
crystalline  purity.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  the  blue  lilac  had  spread  a  mantle  of 
tenderest  azure  upon  the  hillsides  until  the  color 
of  the  sky  was  reflected  from  the  earth  as  if 
from  a  mirror.  He  walked  upon  a  carpet  of 
many-colored  flowers,  and  as  he  descended  the 
263 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

slope,  guided  by  a  mountain  brook,  he  trod  on 
verdurous  grass,  while  lace-like  ferns  hung  sus- 
pended within  touch  of  the  rushing  water,  that 
plunged  and  tumbled  over  the  rocks  until  it 
flowed  in  a  sober  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the 
canon.  Following  its  course,  Burke  came  upon 
the  site  of  the  Bonanza  mine.  The  path  which 
he  had  descended  was  the  one  which  Fairfax 
had  climbed,  hounded  by  terror,  when  the  long 
drought  had  dried  the  waterfall,  and  flowers  and 
grass  were  dead  and  sere. 

The  Bonanza  mine  was  no  longer  a  scene  of 
desolation  and  decay.  Men  and  horses  were 
busy  here.  Carts  were  being  loaded  and  un- 
loaded; a  steam  pump  was  noisily  at  work,  and 
carpenters'  hammers  were  resounding  within 
the  stamping-mill. 

Burke  paused  in  surprise  to  inquire  the  cause 
of  the  sudden  transformation  of  the  scene. 

"Haven't  you  heard,  Mr.  Burke?"  said  the 
foreman.  "The  mine  is  to  be  pumped  out  and 
set  to  running  again.  There  is  the  boss  and 
her  engineer  over  on  the  rock  yonder.  The 
boss  is  a  lady,  Miss  Dorothea  Fairfax." 

Burke  colored  in  boyish  agitation  as  he  saw 

Dorothea,  and  was  aware  that  although  she  had 

recognized  him,  she  delayed  to  greet  him,  being 

in  earnest  conversation  with  a  young  man  whose 

264 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

remarks  were  demanding  her  attention.  He 
was  a  well-dressed  and  self-assertive  young  man, 
who  carried  a  note-book  and  pencil,  and  was 
earnestly  enlarging  on  a  subject  which  seemed 
to  be  of  equal  interest  to  both. 

Burke  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  stones  and 
waited.  Dorothea  gradually  approached  him, 
and  he  had  time  to  observe  every  detail  of  her 
appearance,  the  trim  dark  dress,  the  straw  hat 
set  upon  the  shining  hair,  the  face  and  figure 
which  had  grown  rounder  and  more  mature, 
and  endowed  with  the  subtle  charm  which  years 
bring  to  the  woman  whose  girlhood  has  just 
been  left  behind.  There  was  more  alertness  in 
her  movements,  more  decision  in  her  looks. 
Her  smile  was  bright,  but  there  was  a  tender 
melancholy  in  the  curves  of  her  mouth.  To 
Burke  she  was  in  an  instant  what  she  had  always 
been,  the  dearest  object  in  life. 

He  felt  a  pang  of  misery  in  the  thought  that 
she  could  be  near  him,  yet  not  his  to  claim  and 
cherish.  He  chided  the  folly  of  the  pride  which 
had  kept  him  silent  during  the  absence  of  years. 
Other  influences  had  crowded  him  from  the 
place  that  might  have  been  his  if  he  had 
deserved  to  keep  it. 

Dorothea  stood  before  him,  pronounced  his 
name  and  gave  him  her  hand.  She  introduced 
265 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

Mr.  Hamilton  of  San  Francisco,  for  whom 
Burke  immediately  felt  an  instinctive  ill-will. 

"Perhaps  yon  do  not  know  that  I  am  to  be 
your  neighbor,  Mr.  Burke,"  she  said.  "I  heard 
long  ago  that  you  had  bought  Casa  Blanca. 
I  am  going  to  operate  the  gold  mine  in  what 
you  will  consider,  no  doubt,  a  very  foolish  way. 
The  Indians  are  to  work  it  for  me,  and  the 
profits  are  to  be  divided  on  the  co-operative 
plan.  For  some  time  there  will  be  no  profits ; 
but  the  Indians  will  get  their  wages  as 
day -laborers.  It  will  be  a  great  help  to 
them." 

Burke  had  noticed  that  the  foreman  alone  was 
a  white  man.  Indians  wielded  the  shovel,  pick 
and  hammer. 

"Of  course,  it  is  going  to  be  immensely 
expensive,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  conferred  a  favor  by  the  explanation, 
"to  pump  out  the  mine,  and  put  in  new 
machinery ;  and  the  ore  is  low  grade ;  but  we 
are  going  to  use  a  new  process  that  will  save  a 
great  deal  after  the  first  outlay  is  accounted  for. 
We  do  not  expect  to  make  our  fortune,  do  we, 
Miss  Fairfax?  but  in  two  years  I  venture  to  say 
we  will  be  making  our  running  expenses,  in  five 
years  a  good  profit." 

Burke  looked  keenly  at  Dorothea,  who 
266 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

blushed  a  little,  reading  jealous  interrogation  in 
his  eyes.  Burke  did  not  know  that  this  assump- 
tion of  partnership  applied  only  in  a  business 
sense;  that  Mr.  Hamilton  was  the  least  senti- 
mental of  men;  and  that  Dorothea  tolerated  a 
certain  amount  of  familiarity  only  on  the  score 
of  his  value  to  her  as  a  man  of  absolute  reli- 
ability in  his  particular  line  of  work. 

Burke  became  suddenly  conscious  of  middle 
age,  of  awkwardness,  of  miserable  inferiority  to 
this  active  young  man  of  affairs,  who  sprang 
about  at  Dorothea's  side,  up  and  down  banks  of 
slippery  shale,  tracing  the  course  of  a  new  cause- 
way, of  a  new  tunnel ;  describing  new  and  im- 
proved machinery  for  the  stamping-mill,  and 
insisting  that  she  should  know  and  understand 
each  detail  of  the  undertaking.  Dorothea's 
spirits  drooped  at  last  under  the  influence  of  an 
unsympathetic  presence.  She  looked  anxiously 
at  Burke,  who  felfc  ashamed  of  his  ill-humor  and 
was  trying  to  appear  at  ease. 

"When  you  are  tired  of  it  down  here  perhaps 
you  will  both  come  up  to  my  house  to  lunch- 
eon," he  said.  "I  am  just  settled  for  a  month's 
vacation  at  Casa  Blanca.  You  remember  the 
house,  Doro — Miss  Fairfax ;  but  you  would  not 
know  it,  it  is  quite  transformed.  Leonore  is 
my  cook,  and  she  will  be  happy  to  serve  you  and 
267 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

your  friend,  I  am  sure,  with  the  best  of  her 
ability." 

Dorothea  hesitated.  "I  am  staying  at  the 
school-house,"  she  replied.  "Mr.  Hamilton  is 
camping  with  some  friends  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. I  fancy  he  will  accept  your  invitation. 
I  must  decline." 

"If  it  is  for  lack  of  a  chaperon,"  said  Burke, 
"I  will  invite  the  red-haired  schoolteacher." 

"Some  other  time,"  said  Dorothea.  "Yes, 
I  think  I  am  tired,  and  I  will  go  home  now. 
The  school-house  still  seems  like  home." 

Mr.  Hamilton  also  declined  Burke 's  invita- 
tion, greatly  to  the  relief  of  the  latter,  and 
as  the  young  engineer  refused  to  be  diverted 
from  his  occupation,  Burke  found  himself  walk- 
ing down  the  narrow  path  at  Dorothea's  side. 
Half-way  to  the  road  she  paused  and  hesitated. 

"It  was  on  this  spot  they  tell  me  the  murder 
was  committed,"  she  said;  and  she  stood  fasci- 
nated, looking  at  the  ground  as  if  she  could 
detect  the  trace  of  blood.  "I  could  hardly 
bring  myself  at  first  to  pass  the  spot, "  she  con- 
tinued. "A  horrible  nervous  dread  took  pos- 
session of  me  every  time  I  came  into  the  canon ; 
but  I  determined  to  overcome  it,  and  have  in  a 
measure  succeeded. ' ' 

"Do  you  remember  the  time  of  the  sand- 
268 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

storm?"  asked  Burke,  "and  how  you  sat  beside 
me  and  held  my  hand  when  you  were  nervous?" 

Dorothea  grew  rosy  red.  "It  is  impossible  to 
meet  again  without  those  old  days  coming  back 
to  memory,"  she  said.  "It  makes  our  position 
very  difficult.  I  dreaded  that,  too,  when  I 
came  back  to  Casa  Blanca ;  but  since  I  mean  to 
live  here  we  may  as  well  become  accustomed  to 
it.  I  am  to  build  a  house  on  my  land  in  the 
canon,  and  Mrs.  Aguilar  is  coming  to  live  with 
me  again." 

It  was  Burke 's  turn  to  feel  the  shudder  of  a 
nervous  dread. 

"Oh,  Dorothea,  not  on  that  land,  not  in  the 
canon  where  the  murder  was  committed,"  he 
said  urgently.  "I  can  not  allow  you  to  do 
that." 

"It  is  my  own  feeling,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  in  surprise,  "but  I  thought  it  a  foolish 
weakness." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  have  been  looking  for  a  tenant  for 
my  house.  It  is  absurd  for  a  lonely  bachelor  to 
occupy  a  place  like  that.  I  will  move  out  to- 
morrow and  rent  it  to  you  and  Mrs.  Aguilar  at 
your  own  terms." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  she  asked.     "Are  you 
really  meaning  to  rent?" 
269 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"To  the  first  comer,"  said  Burke,  stoutly. 
"I  should  prefer  a  good  tenant  like  yourself.  It 
will  be  a  convenience  to  both  of  us." 

Dorothea  invited  him  into  the  school-house  to 
discuss  the  proposition. 

"In  the  presence  of  the  red  hair?"  asked 
Burke,  reluctantly.  "No,  come  to  the  white 
house  with  me,  Miss  Fairfax.  Leonore  will  be 
chaperon,  if  you  need  one ;  and  on  the  spot  you 
can  decide  more  satisfactorily  whether  you  like 
the  place. " 

Dorothea  assented,  her  heart  beating  fast  as 
she  followed  him  along  the  garden  path  which 
she  had  last  trodden  so  long  ago.  She  ex- 
claimed with  delight  at  the  changes  he  had 
made,  wandering  about  the  garden  among  the 
tropical  plants,  and  dipping  her  fingers  in  the 
spouting  water  of  the  restored  fountain  that 
plashed  upon  a  bed  of  blue  and  yellow  water 
lilies  among  which  the  Egyptian  lotus  reared  its 
stately  pink  blossoms. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Exactly  as  I  used  to  fancy  it  must  have  been 
in  the  Englishman's  time.  I  used  to  believe  he 
had  planned  it  for  some  one  he  cared  for,  and 
that  he  was  disappointed  in  love.  How  strange 
it  is  to  think  that  I  am  now  the  owner  of  his 
gold  mine  and  am  going  to  live  in  his  house! 
270 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Are  yon  very  sure  you  do  not  wish  to  live  here 
yourself,  Mr.  Burke?" 

Burke 's  heart  yearned  with  its  unspoken 
eloquence;  but  he  answered  grimly,  "A  man 
who  lays  out  the  money  which  a  water  system 
costs  in  California  can  not  afford  to  gratify  his 
wishes." 

Dorothea  forthwith  plunged  into  business. 
She  offered  a  generous  rent,  and  Burke  let  her 
have  it  for  a  third  less,  considering  that  she 
would  be  a  careful  tenant.  He  added  that  he 
would  require  a  lease,  and,  Dorothea  consenting, 
he  led  her  into  the  ground-floor  office,  where  he 
prepared  to  draw  it  up.  The  office  was  trans- 
formed into  a  luxurious  study,  but  upon  the 
wall  still  hung  the  map  upon  which  Mr.  Wilson 
had  traced  the  boundary  of  the  Indians'  land. 
Dorothea  paced  the  floor  as  Burke  wrote,  now 
and  then  pausing  in  her  walk  to  look  at  the  map 
and  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 

"How  strange,  how  very  strange!"  she  re- 
peated ;  then  with  a  change  of  tone  she  added, 
"I  have  not  told  you  of  my  great  sorrow  in 
papa's  loss.  He  disappeared.  He  never  came 
to  his  Dorothea  as  he  promised.  His  friends  do 
not  know  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead,  but  I 
know.  My  papa  would  not  desert  me  if  he 
lived." 

271 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  stopped  in  his  writing  and  watched  the 
tears  that  stole  upon  her  cheeks,  feeling  an 
almost  irresistible  impulse  to  kiss  them  away. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said,  stifling  her  grief. 
"Go  on  with  your  writing.  I  must  be  going 
home." 

"Shall  I  make  it  for  a  year?"  he  inquired. 
"Can  I  count  on  you  for  as  long  as  that?" 

"I  shall  spend  my  life  here,"  she  answered, 
"but  you  may  make  it  for  a  year,  and  I  will 
renew  it  annually  if  you  are  willing.  My  trip 
about  the  world  was  my  last  outing.  I  mean 
to  give  my  life,  the  rest  of  it,  to  work  among 
these  Indians." 

Burke 's  look  clouded  a  little.  The  invincible 
barrier  was  still  between  them.  He  had  hoped 
that  Dorothea  had  forgotten. 

"I  started  to  tell  you,"  she  continued,  "that 
papa's  gold  mines  in  South  America  have 
realized  a  fortune,  and  through  Mr.  Hereford's 
kindness  in  going  down  there  and  looking  after 
my  affairs,  I  have  been  able  to  prove  a  claim  to 
them  and  receive  a  share  of  the  profits.  You 
need  not  have  given  me  the  rent  so  cheaply,  Mr. 
Burke.  I  am  a  rich  woman.  I  wanted  to  give 
a  great  deal  to  these  Indians  here,  but  Antonio 
advised  me  to  give  nothing  but  work.  The 
gold  mine  scheme  is  his  plan."  She  hesitated 
272 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

and  blushed,  meeting  Burke's  sombre  look. 
"I  have  not  seen  him  since  he  has  been  in 
prison,"  she  added,  "but  he  writes  to  me  once 
a  month." 

Burke  signed  the  lease  and  handed  her  the 
pen  in  silence.  She  affixed  her  name  and 
turned  quickly  away.  "Miss  Green  will  be 
waiting  for  me,"  she  said. 

"I  was  going  to  offer  to  show  you  the  house," 
said  Burke,  "but  another  time  will  do." 

"I  am  rather  curious  about  it,  too,"  she 
replied,  retracing  her  steps.  "Suppose  we  look 
about  a  little." 

"Come,  Leonore,"  called  Burke.  "I  want 
you  to  show  a  lady  over  the  house. " 

The  dusky  maid-servant  appeared  beaming 
welcome.  Dorothea  gave  her  her  hand.  "You 
are  the  only  one  I  have  not  seen,"  she  said. 
"Your  mother  told  me  you  were  working  here." 

"Yes,"  said  Leonore,  in  Spanish.  "I  am 
keeping  house  for  Mr.  Burke." 

uAnd  now  you  will  keep  house  for  me,"  said 
Dorothea.  "Mr.  Burke  has  rented  the  house 
to  me." 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  him?"  asked 
Leonore. 

Dorothea    blushed    and    shook    her    head. 
Burke  was  out  of  sight,  but  not  out  of  hearing. 
273 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  stared  reflectively 
into  the  distance.  "Shall  I  ever  dare  to  ask  her 
that  question  again,"  he  murmured,  "and  how 
will  she  answer  me?" 

Leonore,  full  of  importance,  led  the  guest  of 
honor  from  room  to  room,  expatiating  on  the 
changes  and  improvements,  a  new  window  here, 
a  balcony  there,  furniture  and  carpets  in  the 
latest  style  from  town.  She  flung  open  the 
door  of  a  beautiful  bedroom,  which  was 
the  object  of  her  especial  pride.  "This  is 
his  room,"  she  said.  "There  is  his  desk  and 
chair  by  the  window.  He  likes  to  look  down 
yonder  at  the  school-house  and  the  ranch eria. 
It  is  a  pretty  view.  And  this  is  his  dressing- 
table,  and  he  has  silver  things  like  yours, 
Sefiorita ;  and  that  is  your  picture  in  the  frame. 
I  dust  it  every  morning." 

Dorothea  looked  with  some  emotion  at  the 
semblance  of  herself  thus  honored  and  cher- 
ished ;  and  feeling  that  her  presence  here  was  an 
intrusion,  she  hurried  from  the  room,  and  left 
the  house  without  again  encountering  its  owner. 


274 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  week  later,  Dorothea  and  her  aunt  were 
settled  as  residents  in  the  white  house  on  the 
hill ;  and  life  went  on  in  a  smooth  and  orderly 
course,  as  it  does  after  the  most  violent  disturb- 
ance of  routine,  the  new  immediately  becoming 
the  customary. 

In  the  midst  of  crowding  interests,  Dorothea 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  regret.  Something 
was  lacking  in  her  life,  and  it  was'not  Antonio's 
presence,  for  she  had  long  since  adjusted  herself 
to  the  inevitable. 

The  uneasiness  she  felt  was  caused  by  the 
consciousness  that  Burke  still  loved  her  and 
blamed  her  for  the  ruin  of  his  happiness. 
There  was  exquisite  flattery  in  this  constancy  of 
devotion.  It  was  inevitable  that  in  return  her 
thoughts  should  dwell  upon  the  pathos  of  his 
lonely  life,  and  that  she  should  recognize  with  a 
quickened  appreciation  all  that  was  admirable 
in  his  character.  It  seemed  to  her  now  that  she 
had  never  really  known  him,  so  much  was 
revealed  in  the  light  of  tender  sympathy. 

The  little  broken  tendril  of  her  destiny  was 
275 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

quickened  into  new  life,  and  fixed  itself  with 
gentle  strength  upon  the  object  of  its  earliest 
attachment.  Antonio  was  not  forgotten ;  but  a 
heavy  shadow  hung  where  the  prison  doors  had 
closed,  and  it  was  impossible  for  her  thoughts 
to  bridge  the  gulf  between  the  past  and  present. 

It  was  to  Burke  that  the  warm  tide  of  living 
affection  turned,  for  the  first  time  conscious  of 
itself  and  rejoicing  in  its  power  to  bless.  She 
loved  him  the  more  for  the  new  humility  which 
kept  him  silent  while  his  eyes  spoke  a  language 
which  she  could  not  misunderstand;  but  she 
wondered  that  he  could  not  with  equal  astute- 
ness read  her  heart ;  and  it  vexed  her  that  he 
chose  to  be  a  formal  and  infrequent  visitor, 
relinquishing  the  claim  of  old  acquaintance  with 
the  habits  of  the  past. 

"I  believe  that  Harry  Burke  agrees  with  our 
gossiping  neighbors  that  you  are  interested  in 
Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  Mrs.  Aguilar  one  day 
when  she  was  alone  with  her  niece. 

"Impossible!"  cried  Dorothea,  with  indig- 
nant warmth.  "How  could  he  imagine  such  a 
thing?" 

"It  is  natural  enough,  I  am  sure,"  was  the 

reply.     "I  do  not  wonder  people  think  of  it. 

If  Harry  did  not  have  some  such  idea  he  would 

not  keep  so  much  in  the  background,  when  it  is 

276 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

easy  to  see  he  loves  you  as  much  as  ever.  I  am 
sorry  for  him,  for  I  think  he  is  a  very  unhappy 
man." 

Sweet  and  bitter  were  mingled  for  Dorothea 
in  these  suggestions ;  but  a  girlish  shyness  over- 
came her  under  the  necessity  of  justifying  her 
position  to  her  aunt. 

"If  Harry  Burke  knows  me  no  better  than  to 
believe  that,  I  think  he  deserves  to  be  un- 
happy," she  said,  while  an  enigmatical  smile 
dimpled  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

She  rose  and  looked  out  of  the  window  across 
the  reaches  of  green  hills  and  winding  hollows 
bathed  in  the  dazzling  radiance  of  noon. 

"What  a  day  for  a  ride!"  she  added  irrel- 
evantly. "I  think  Dandy  needs  the  exercise  as 
well  as  I.  Do  not  wait  for  me,  dear,  if  I  am 
late  to  lunch;"  and  she  escaped  from  the  room 
like  a  truant  child. 

Conscious,  as  she  rode  from  the  gate,  that  her 
aunt's  eyes  were  upon  her,  she  made  a  wide 
detour  before  taking  the  road  to  Hilton. 

"Why  did  I  do  that?"  she  asked  herself 
guiltily;  and  for  answer  she  smiled  and  blushed, 
and  patted  her  horse's  neck.  "You  will  never 
tell,  will  you,  Dandy?"  she  said. 

The  ten  miles  were  quickly  passed;  but 
within  sight  of  the  uninteresting  little  town  set 
277 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

in  the  midst  of  a  level  mesa  upon  which  the 
sunlight  blazed  unrelieved  by  the  shade  of  trees, 
she  drew  rein  and  rode  slowly.  Why  had  she 
come?  She  wished  to  make  no  purchases  at  the 
store,  for  the  store  at  Casa  Blanca,  now  owned 
by  Burke  and  made  respectable  by  the  elimina- 
tion of  the  gin-shop,  was  always  ready  to  supply 
her  commissions  by  orders  far  and  wide.  She 
had  no  acquaintance  in  Hilton  to  whom  she 
stood  sufficiently  in  debt  to  make  the  idea  of  a 
morning  call  tolerable.  She  might  visit  her 
landlord.  During  a  sudden  rain-storm  the 
woodshed  roof  had  sprung  a  leak.  It  was 
hardly  of  more  pressing  importance  than  the 
leaky  roof  of  the  Arkansas  farmer,  for  there 
might  not  be  another  rain  in  months.  Still, 
a  careful  housekeeper  will  prepare  for  emer- 
gencies. 

She  entered  the  town  and  descended  by 
Burke 's  office  door,  where  she  tied  her  horse  at 
a  post,  looking  carefully  about  her  the  while, 
but  unperceived  by  any  one  but  the  Argus-eyed 
landlady  of  the  hotel  opposite,  who  appeared  to 
Dorothea's  uneasy  consciousness  to  take  the 
avenging  form  of  Mrs.  Grundy  herself. 

Defying  her,  she  entered  the  office,  the  door 
standing  conveniently  ajar.  Burke  was  absent. 
There  was  a  superadded  smell  of  fresh  tobacco 
278 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

in  the  air.  His  desk  was  strewn  with  books  and 
papers.  He  would  no  doubt  soon  return.  She 
seated  herself  in  the  arm-chair  where  he  had  sat 
when  she  had  engaged  him  to  defend  Antonio — 
at  what  price?  She  had  made  him  a  promise ; 
he  had  kissed  her  lips  to  seal  it;  she  had 
accepted  his  work,  the  best  results  of  his  skill, 
only  to  resume  the  gift  and  break  the  promise. 

She  rose  and  moved  restlessly  about.  Upon 
the  desk  lay  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper  originally 
intended  for  some  important  legal  document; 
but  across  its  surface  Burke  had  scrawled  a 
name,  scribbling  idly  in  some  pause  of  work,  or 
in  the  vacancy  of  a  lonely  moment.  The  name 
repeated  with  many  curls  and  flourishes  was 
always  the  same,  Dorothea. 

She  felt  the  stirring  of  a  deep  remorse 
mingled  with  a  swelling  tide  of  tender  joy.  "I 
owe  him  all  that  I  promised,"  she  thought, 
"and  I  will  give  him  much,  much  more  than  I 
could  dream  of  then." 

She  bent  above  the  paper  where  his  hand  had 
rested,  took  up  the  pen  which  he  had  used,  and 
across  the  blank  surface  of  the  sheet  she  wrote 
his  name,  Harry,  Harry,  twenty  times  repeated. 

"How  foolish  he  will  think  me !"  she  thought, 
smilingly.  "What  will  he  say  if  he  finds  me 
here?" 

279 


A  SOUL  in  BBONZE 

The  door  opened,  and  a  rusty -garbed  client, 
wearing  a  battered  sombrero,  stuck  his  head 
within.  "Mr.  Burke  in?"  he  asked. 

"He  is  out,"  stammered  Dorothea.  "He 
will  soon  be  in;"  and  she  fled,  pursued  by 
shame,  and  remounting,  took  the  hill-road  to 
Casa  Blanca  at  the  best  speed  of  her  fleet-limbed 
horse. 

As  the  cool  wind  fanned  her  blushing  cheeks, 
she  asked  herself  again  and  again,  "What  will 
he  think  of  me?  What  will  he  say?  What  will 
he  do?" 

Burke  came  into  his  office,  found  his  client 
waiting,  and  sat  down  to  hear  his  story.  It  was 
while  he  was  listening  to  a  rambling  disserta- 
tion, from  which  strict  attention  alone  could 
elucidate  a  coherent  connection,  that  Burke's 
eye  fell  upon  the  sheet,  where  he  recognized 
Dorothea's  handwriting.  He  took  the  paper 
within  his  hands  and  stared  at  it,  while  the 
murmur  of  his  client's  voice  Lfell  upon  his  ears 
like  the  unregarded  sighing  of  the  wind. 

In  the  first  pause  Burke  roused  himself  and 
said,  "Come  again  to-morrow,  Mr.  Simons." 

"Impossible,"  was  the  reply.  "I  came 
down  thirty  mile  to  see  you  to-day,  Mr. 
Burke." 

"I  am  called  away  on  important  business," 
280 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

said  Burke.  "Not  a  moment  to  spare.  Stay 
all  night  at  the  hotel  at  my  expense.  We  must 
take  time  to  look  into  your  case." 

"I  thought  it  was  simple  enough.  I  thought 
you  could  give  me  an  hour's  time  and  finish  it 
up." 

"Very  complicated,  important  to  go  slow," 
called  Burke  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  already 
half-way  to  the  door.  "Stay  a  week  at  my 
expense,  if  necessary.  I  will  be  back  when  I 
can." 

Burke  was  quick  in  deduction,  and  quick  in 
action.  He  ran  to  the  stable,  flung  the  saddle 
on  his  horse,  and  was  half-way  across  the  mesa 
before  his  client  had  recovered  from  his  aston- 
ishment. 

"He  must  be  in  a  hurry,  I  vow.  Somebody 
must  be  dying,  and  sent  for  him  to  make  a 
will."  Mr.  Simons  had  reached  this  conclusion 
slowly,  after  the  consumption  of  his  third  pipe. 
Burke  by  that  time  was  within  sight  of  Doro- 
thea and  gaining  rapidly  upon  her. 

When  she  saw  that  she  was  pursued,  her  first 
impulse  was  to  flee  yet  faster,  her  second  to 
draw  rein  out  of  consideration  for  Dandy's  wind 
and  for  Burke's  chestnut,  which  flung  flecks  of 
foam  upon  the  breeze  as  he  tossed  his  head, 
resenting  the  urgency  of  spur  and  whip. 
281 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

She  waited,  trembling  and  blushing,  but 
steadying  herself  with  joyful  resolution. 

1  'Why  did  you  run  away?"  called  Burke. 
"Am  I  to  take  my  wife  by  capture  as  the  savages 
do?"  He  rode  close  to  her  and  bent  and  looked 
into  the  eyes  which  she  lifted  shyly  to  his  face. 
"Speak,  Dorothea,"  he  added.  "Tell  me  what 
you  meant.  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  Dis- 
appointment now  would  make  me  desperate." 

"I  meant  what  you  did  when  you  wrote  my 
name,"  she  answered. 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  waist.  The  horses 
stood  close  together,  head  to  head,  questioning 
each  other  with  sensitive  nostrils. 

"I  am  under  avow,"  said  Burke,  in  a  broken 
voice.  "Did  I  not  promise  never  to  kiss  my 
betrothed  until  she  offered  me  a  kiss?" 

"Take  it,"  said  Dorothea.  "Take  me.  I 
love  you,  Harry,  and  am  lonely  without  you." 

The  horses  wondered  that,  after  putting  their 
mettle  so  severely  to  the  test,  their  riders  let 
them  have  then*  way  during  the  remainder  of 
the  ascent.  If  they  chose  to  swerve  aside  and 
nibble  at  the  fresh  young  shoots  in  the  thicket 
there  was  no  one  to  resent  the  dereliction. 

"You  must  wear  the  blue  lilac  in  your  wed- 
ding veil,"  said  Burke,  and  he  plucked  a  spray 
of  ceanothus  and  fastened  it  in  her  hair. 
282 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

"It  will  soon  be  out  of  bloom,"  she  answered. 
"The  orange  blossoms  last  all  the  year." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  wait  all  the  year," 
he  responded.  "Our  engagement  now  has 
lasted  four  years.  I  believe  in  God's  sight  it 
has  never  been  broken." 

Her  hand  trembled  within  his.  She  remem- 
bered the  diamond  that  had  been  flung  into  the 
sea ;  she  remembered  the  grief  of  those  days ; 
she  remembered  Antonio. 

"Will  you  marry  me  to-morrow?"  he  asked. 

With  a  quick  change  of  feeling  she  laughed 
merrily.  "I  can  not  marry  till  my  lease  is  up," 
she  said.  "You  have  no  house  to  offer  me." 

"I  will  beg  you  to  share  your  house  with  me," 
he  replied.  "Seriously,  Dorothea,  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  an  immediate  marriage." 

"It  takes  two  to  make  a  bargain,"  she  re- 
minded him. 

"You  offered  yourself  to  me,"  he  declared. 

"But  next  year  will  do  as  well  as  to-morrow," 
she  answered ;  then,  as  Burke  gave  her  a  look  of 
real  reproach,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and 
declared,  "It  shall  be  before  the  lilac  is  out  of 
bloom." 

Marta  Lachusa,  with  Felipe  for  amanuensis, 
wrote  one  day  the  following  letter  to  her  brother : 

283 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  will  tell  you  about  the  wedding.  We  all 
worked  to  gather  the  blue  lilac  for  the  church 
until  it  was  so  thick  you  could  not  see  the 
green,  though  the  boughs  were  fresh  cut,  and 
she  wore  a  wreath  of  it  over  her  white  veil. 
The  priest  was  not  Father  Gaspara,  but  he 
blessed  them  as  well  as  if  he  was  a  Catholic. 

"She  was  the  happiest  bride  I  ever  saw,  for 
she  did  not  shed  a  tear.  He  made  the  promises 
as  if  he  meant  it,  and  when  they  came  out  of 
church  he  laughed  and  joked  and  shook  hands 
with  all  of  us.  They  went  off  in  a  carriage. 
I  saw  him  kiss  her  as  he  got  in.  "We  had  a 
grand  dinner  out  of  doors  on  big  tables. 

"Felipe  is  tired,  so  no  more  from 

"YOUR  SISTER  MARTA." 


284 


CHAPTER  XX 

Dorothea's  son  was  born  the  following  year, 
at  the  time  of  the  blossoming  of  the  lilac,  and 
she  declared  that  his  name  was  to  be  Anthony, 
the  less  melodious  English  equivalent  for  a  name 
still  dear  to  her.  "We  can  call  him  Tony,"  she 
said  to  Burke,  who  looked  his  objections,  but 
did  not  dare  to  formulate  them.  What  will  a 
man  deny  to  the  wife  who  holds  his  first-born  in 
her  arms? 

Life  at  Casa  Blanca  ran  on  like  a  peaceful 
stream  from  year  to  year,  becoming  ever  more 
and  more  absorbed  into  the  growing  life  of  the 
little  Anthony.  Its  anniversaries  were  all  con- 
nected with  his  history,  the  day  his  first  tooth 
came,  the  day  he  took  his  first  step  alone,  the 
day  he  first  rode  out  before  his  father  on  his 
horse;  and  it  was  well  for  all  when  this  sole 
despotism  ceased  at  the  birth  of  his  sister 
Dora. 

Tony  was  now  five  years  old,  and  could  talk 
in  English  and  Spanish,  and  lorded  it  over  the 
little  Indians  as  he  did  over  his  parents  and  his 
godmother,  Mrs.  Aguilar;  but  he  was  shy  and 
reserved  in  the  presence  of  the  newcomer,  and 
285 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

confided  to  his  father  that  he  was  afraid  to  touch 
the  baby  for  fear  of  breaking  her. 

Burke  was  now  allowed  the  more  frequent 
company  of  his  son  and  heir,  since  he  had  be- 
come a  big  boy  upon  sudden  promotion ;  and  he 
took  him  trips  with  him  about  the  country; 
took  him  to  court,  and  was  proud  of  his  answers 
and  his  sunny  sociability ;  took  him  to  his  office 
at  Hilton,  and  let  him  sit  upon  the  desk  where 
his  father  and  mother  had  scribbled  their  mutual 
declaration  of  love ;  and  gave  him  the  freedom 
of  his  pencils  and  a  delightful  old  ledger  to 
write  in.  Tony  looked  and  listened  with  a 
deep-rooted  purpose.  It  was  his  plan  to  be  a 
lawyer,  and  one  more  famous  than  his  father. 

One  day  Burke  rode  to  Hilton,  feeling  the 
loneliness  of  an  unaccustomed  solitude.  This 
reminded  him  of  the  blessings  with  which  his 
life  was  crowned.  He  was  sorry  for  any  man 
who  had  to  live  alone.  He  was  sorry  for  his  old 
chum  Nelson,  who  was  walking  towards  him 
along  the  road  in  the  same  old  hat  he  had  worn 
a  year  ago,  in  a  coat  unbrushed  and  fringed  at 
the  lining,  the  sorry  picture  of  an  unambitious 
bachelor. 

Nelson,  upon  perceiving  him,  ran  towards  him 
with  an  excited  air. 

"I  was  looking  for  you,  Burke,"  he  said. 
286 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  knew  you  would  be  going  to  Hilton,  and  I 
waited  here  to  meet  you.  I  want  you  to  leave 
your  horse  at  my  house  yonder,  and  come  back 
with  me  up  into  the  mountains.  I  want  to 
show  you  something." 

To  all  questionings  he  refused  an  answer. 
44 You  must  see  for  yourself,"  he  said.  "I  was 
hunting  up  there  on  the  mountain,  and  I  left 
my  rifle  and  game  bag  to  mark  the  spot.  It  is 
something  that  will  interest  you.  I  want  you  to 
see  it  before  any  one  else." 

Burke  was  impatient  of  this  mystery;  and 
unwilling  to  scramble  on  a  wild-goose  chase  up 
precipitous  heights  and  through  tangled  thick- 
ets; but  Nelson's  impatience  urged  him  on. 
"I  tell  you,  it  is  important,"  he  said.  " There 
are  legal  complications  connected  with  it.  You 
would  have  given  all  your  old  boots  and  shoes  at 
this  time  ten  years  ago  for  a  sight  of  what  I  am 
going  to  show  you,  though  time  has  changed  it 
a  little.  "We  all  change  with  time,"  and  he 
laughed  grimly. 

Burke  followed  with  uneasy  curiosity,  until, 
after  an  hour's  upward  progress,  Nelson  led  him 
to  the  edge  of  a  steep  declivity,  where  he  found 
his  rifle  and  game  bag  as  he  had  left  them. 
"This  is  the  spot,"  he  said.  "Look  down 
there  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 
287 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Burke  craned  his  neck  over  the  wall  of  a 
natural  chasm  in  the  rocky  mountain  side,  and 
started  in  surprise.  "A  human  skeleton!''  he 
said. 

"That  is  it,"  said  Nelson.  "I  saw  it  first 
from  this  place,  and  then  I  went  down  and  took 
a  nearer  look.  Come  on.  I  want  you  to  do 
the  same." 

Burke  obeyed  eagerly,  swinging  himself  over 
the  cliffs  until  he  reached  the  flat  rock  which 
had  been  for  many  years  an  open  sepulchre. 
The  bones  were  white  and  clean.  The  vultures 
had  seen  to  that. 

"A  couple  of  bones  are  broken,"  remarked 
Nelson.  "The  man  met  his  death  by  a  fall. 
Now  this  is  what  I  wish  you  to  observe.  He 
wears  a  belt  which  once  was  leather  strength- 
ened by  silver,  and  the  silver  buckle  still  re- 
mains, and  here  at  the  side  is  a  silver  sheath, 
which  is  empty.  It  once  held  a  dagger,  and  as 
soon  as  I  saw  it  I  knew  who  this  man  was.  He 
was  the  murderer  of  Samuel  Jennings.  He 
stabbed  him  with  his  dagger,  and  he  took  to  the 
mountains  to  escape.  Straight  down  yonder, 
you  look  into  the  canon  of  the  Bonanza  mine. 
You  can  see  the  roof  of  the  power  house.  A 
climb  up  by  the  waterfall  and  over  the  mesa 
would  bring  you  to  the  rise  of  the  mountain. 
288 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

It  was  evening,  you  will  remember,  and  you 
know  what  a  storm  there  was  that  night. 
Wandering  about  here  he  lost  his  footing  and 
fell  into  this  cleft  of  the  rocks,  where  he  would 
remain  unseen  by  any  one  approaching  except 
in  the  direction  I  happened  to  come.  A  man 
might  lie  in  such  a  spot  till  doomsday  undiscov- 
ered. It  was  by  a  mere  chance  I  climbed  so  far. 
Now,  I  thought  you  were  the  one  who  would  be 
interested.  You  still  have  the  dagger.  All 
you  need  to  do  is  to  fit  it  to  the  sheath." 

Burke  had  stooped  and  was  quickly  removing 
the  belt.  He  held  it  in  his  hand,  and  rubbed 
the  buckle  free  from  the  dust  and  sand  which 
had  encumbered  it.  ,  It  was  black  with  oxidiza- 
tion, but  he  could  trace  the  figures  deeply 
engraved  upon  it.  It  appeared  to  answer  the 
description  given  by  the  man  who  had  sold 
the  silver -handled  dagger  to  the  owner  of  the 
belt. 

''This  comes  just  ten  years  too  late,"  he  said, 
"but  it  will  secure  the  Indian's  release.  I  will 
take  immediate  steps  to  that  end."  He  looked 
up  quickly  at  his  friend.  "This  will  make  a 
nine-days'  wonder,"  he  added.  "I  want  to 
have  time  to  arrange  matters  undisturbed. 
Please  say  nothing  about  it  until  I  give  you 
leave." 

289 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"As  you  please,"  replied  Nelson.  "It  will 
make  a  thrilling  article  for  the  papers." 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,"  Burke  reflected. 
"Murder  will  out  at  last." 

"But  the  strangest  thing  is  that  the  Indian 
should  allow  him  to  escape  if  he  saw  the  mur- 
der done,"  remarked  Nelson.  "He  must  have 
been  an  accomplice  and  bribed  to  keep  quiet, 
but  even  then  it  is  curious  that  he  should  risk 
his  life  to  do  it.  I  have  almost  forgotten  the 
details  of  the  trial,  but  I  distinctly  remember 
that  you  showed  me  the  picture  of  the  sheath 
drawn  by  the  man  who  sold  the  dagger.  That 
was  all  that  was  needed  to  complete  your  line  of 
argument." 

A  few  hours  later  the  two  men  were  together 
in  Burke's  office  at  Hilton,  where  the  lawyer 
unlocked  an  unused  drawer  and  took  out  the 
famous  dagger.  It  fitted  the  sheath  as  a  hand 
fits  a  glove. 

Burke  sat  and  mused,  while  Nelson  went  to  a 
closet  where  a  rifle  stood  and  where  materials  for 
cleaning  it  were  stored,  and  extracting  the  latter 
he  busied  himself  with  rubbing  up  the  silver 
buckle,  sheath  and  handle  until  all  shone  as 
bright  as  new.  Burke,  arousing  himself,  went 
to  his  desk  and  began  to  write  hastily.  Time 
had  flown  during  the  long  tramp  up  and  down 
290 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

the  mountain.  Dorothea  had  promised  to  call 
for  him  in  her  low  cart  and  drive  him  home. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  heen  so  far  in 
months,  and  it  was  to  be  a  gala  occasion.  She 
would  be  disappointed  to  find  him  still  busy  in 
his  office. 

A  tap  came  at  the  door,  and  Dorothea  herself 
entered.  "I  meant  to  take  you  by  surprise, " 
she  said.  "I  fastened  the  horse  at  the  store. 
How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Nelson?  I  have  not  seen 
you  for  a  very  long  time.  I  hope  you  will  come 
oftener  now  to  Casa  Blanca.  We  have  a  little 
new  lady  in  the  house  to  help  do  the  honors." 

While  Nelson  answered  her  with  his  brightest 
smiles,  Burke  hastily  gathered  up  his  papers  as 
well  as  the  dagger  and  its  sheath,  and  thrust 
them  within  the  desk,  which  he  locked,  forget- 
ting the  buckle  which  Nelson  still  held. 

Dorothea  smiled  at  her  husband,  then  turned 
at  some  remark  of  Nelson's  and  noticed  the 
shining  object  in  his  hand. 

"What  have  you  there?"  she  asked,  while 
Nelson,  responding  to  Burke's  warning  frown, 
refrained  from  explanation.  "Why,  where  in 
the  world  did  you  get  this?"  she  continued,  in 
an  agitated  tone,  taking  the  buckle  from  him. 
"It  looks  like,  yes,  it  is,  papa's  belt  buckle.  I 
can  not  mistake  it.  There  could  not  be  another 
291 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

like  it.  It  was  given  to  him  by  an  old  Peruvian 
silversmith,  who  made  it  with  his  own  hands, 
engraving  on  it  a  copy  of  the  inscription  of  the 
sacred  stone  of  the  Incas ;  and  here  are  papa's 
initials  on  the  back,  'E.  F.'  What  does  it 
mean,  Harry?  What  are  you  keeping  from 
me?"  Her  voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream. 

"Wait  forme  outside,"  whispered  Burke  to 
Nelson.  "Say  nothing  till  you  see  me  again." 

4 '  Tell  me,  tell  me, "  urged  Dorothea.  * '  Have 
you  news  of  him.  Tell  me  what  you  have  dis- 
covered." 

Burke  had  quickly  grasped  the  situation,  and 
decided  on  his  course. 

"Sit  down  here,  dearest,"  he  said,  taking  her 
cold  fingers  and  leading  her  to  a  seat.  "Yes, 
your  father  has  been  found.  His  dead  body 
was  discovered  in  a  cleft  of  the  high  Andes, 
where  it  had  lain  for  years  undiscovered.  He 
must  have  been  travelling  alone  in  an  unfre- 
quented and  dangerous  part  of  the  mountains, 
and  have  missed  his  footing  and  fallen  to  his 
death.  The  remains  had  become  only  clean 
white  bones,  which  were  buried  where  they 
were  discovered,  the  identity  having  been  proved 
by  this  belt  buckle,  which,  after  some  round- 
about wanderings,  was  sent  to  me.  I  was  won- 
dering how  I  could  best  break  the  news  to  yon." 
292 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Dorothea  did  not  weep,  but  she  asked  eager 
questions  which  Burke  found  it  hard  to  answer, 
though  his  quick  invention  under  the  pressure 
of  necessity  contrived  a  plausible  and  coherent 
story,  with  which  his  wife  was  satisfied.  She 
ceased  to  question,  and  she  gazed  into  the  dis- 
tance with  an  absent-minded  look,  as  if  she  saw 
in  fancy  the  whitening  bones  upon  the  desolate 
mountain-side. 

"It  is  no  new  grief, "  she  said.  "In  fact,  it 
is  in  some  ways  a  relief.  No  one  now  can 
accuse  him  of  a  broken  faith,  or  imply  anything 
against  him,  as  they  do  when  a  man  mysteriously 
disappears.  He  was  on  a  journey  to  the  gold 
mines  which  he  meant  should  make  my  fortune, 
and  he  was  planning  to  return  to  me  and  make 
me  happy  always.  Dear,  dear  papa,  what  a  sad, 
lonely  death !  Some  day  we  must  make  a  pil- 
grimage to  that  spot,  no  matter  how  inaccessible 
and  remote  it  is.  Sometime  we  will  visit  his 
grave  together." 

Burke  held  her  hand  and  pressed  her  head 
against  his  bosom,  and  tried  to  soothe  her  grief; 
until,  at  last,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
smile.  "It  is  not  as  if  he  were  my  only  love," 
she  added.  "I  have  you  and  the  children;  but 
it  pains  me  that  they  can  never  know  their 
grandfather;  that  he  can  never  see  them." 
293 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

Before  driving  home  with  his  wife,  Burke 
found  means  to  speak  to  Nelson,  and  to  make 
an  appointment  with  him;  and  after  he  had 
taken  dinner  with  Dorothea,  romped  with  Tony 
and  seen  him  safe  in  bed,  visited  the  little  Dora 
in  her  crib,  and  expatiated,  in  response  to  Doro- 
thea's eager  exclamations,  upon  the  subject  of 
her  miniature  perfections,  he  looked  at  his 
watch  and  said,  "I  have  just  time  to  catch  the 
night  train  if  I  ride  back  to  Hilton.  I  thought 
you  would  not  be  happy  to  have  me  miss  the 
children's  good-nights,  but  I  learned  this  after- 
noon of  an  important  piece  of  business  that  will 
keep  me  till  to-morrow  noon  in  town,  and  after 
that  require  an  absence  of  several  days.  I  will 
be  back  to-morrow  to  say  good-bye,  so  now 
it  is  only  good-night." 

Dorothea  was  too  good  a  wife  to  interfere  in 
her  husband's  business  engagements,  and  her  con- 
fidence in  him  was  too  absolute  to  require  that  he 
should  enter  with  her  into  the  details  of  his  affairs. 
She  was  lonely  when  he  was  absent,  and  the  sun 
shone  brightest  for  her  when  each  day's  joys  and 
cares  could  be  shared  together ;  but  she  meant 
that  her  love  should  never  fetter  his  freedom. 

"Be  careful,  dearest,  as  you  ride  down  the 
hills,"  she  said.  "The  road  is  stony,  and  it  is 
very  dark." 

294 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

" There  is  a  waning  moon,"  he  answered, 
"and  it  will  soon  be  up.  I  am  counting  upon 
its  light." 

She  set  the  lamp  in  the  window  and  waved  a 
farewell  until  he  was  out  of  sight. 

Nelson  was  expecting  him  at  his  house  in  the 
valley,  and  here  Burke  stabled  his  horse  and 
joined  his  friend,  who  wore  thick  overalls  and 
carried  a  bag  which  contained  a  pick  and  shovel. 
Burke  divided  the  load  with  him,  and  together 
they  took  again  the  difficult  path  over  the  hills, 
which  led  them,  as  it  had  done  earlier  in  the 
day,  to  the  mountain's  almost  inaccessible 
heights.  When  they  reached  the  most  broken 
part  of  the  ascent,  it  was  necessary  to  wait  for 
the  rising  of  the  moon  to  light  the  way. 

"It  is  good  of  you,  Nelson,  to  help  me  in 
this,"  said  Burke;  "and  I  thank  God  it  was  you 
and  not  another  man  who  found  the  skeleton. 
My  thoughts  are  still  in  great  confusion.  I 
would  give  worlds  to  be  able  to  keep  the  truth 
from  Dorothea.  I  made  up  a  story  to-day  that 
served  the  purpose ;  but  sooner  or  later  it  must 
come  upon  her  like  a  thunderbolt.  She  loves 
her  father  so  dearly  that  I  do  not  know  that  she 
can  be  made  to  believe  that  it  was  he  who  was 
the  murderer.  If  she  should  believe  it  the 
shock  would  almost  kill  her.  Then  there  is  the 
295 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

thought  of  the  disgrace  for  her  and  for  our  chil- 
dren. The  hand  of  God  must  have  pointed  the 
way  to  this  discovery ;  but  I  feel  as  if  the  same 
hand  had  smitten  me.  This  is  the  greatest  trial 
of  my  life," 

Nelson  looked  at  the  bowed  head  of  his  friend 
with  keen  concern.  "Why  go  any  further  in 
the  matter?"  he  asked.  "We  will  bury  the 
remains  as  you  have  planned,  and  we  will  bury 
the  secret  in  our  hearts.  We  are  not  even  now 
sure  of  the  facts  in  the  case.  Some  one  may 
have  stolen  Edward  Fairfax's  belt.  These  may 
not  be  his  bones.  Why  stir  up  a  storm  of 
misery  for  your  innocent  wife  and  children  when 
the  whole  matter  lies  in  your  own  choice?  You 
can  command  my  silence.  You  are  sure  of 
yourself.  Who  else  is  there  to  be  considered?" 

"There  is  the  innocent  prisoner  at  San 
Quentin,"  replied  Burke. 

"He  may  not  be  an  innocent  man,"  said  Nel- 
son. "He  is  most  likely  an  accomplice.  It  is 
known  that  he  carried  the  note  that  decoyed 
Jennings  to  the  spot  of  his  assassination.  Why 
concern  yourself  with  him?  He  is  housed  and 
fed  for  a  lifetime  at  the  expense  of  the  state. 
What  more  could  an  Indian  ask?" 

Burke  sighed  heavily.  "He  is  innocent,"  he 
said.  "A  hundred  forgotten  things  come  back 
296 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

to  me,  all  pointing  one  way.  I  was  even  warned 
that  Fairfax  had  cause  to  wish  for  Jennings 's 
death.  There  was  a  long-standing  enmity 
between  them.  Fairfax  had  just  completed  the 
purchase  of  the  Bonanza  mine.  That  was  the 
reason  he  chose  that  spot  for  a  meeting.  Jen- 
nings had  cheated  him  in  the  sale  and  they 
quarrelled  over  it.  He  was  planning  his  coming 
as  a  surprise  to  his  daughter,  and  arrived  at 
Casa  Blanca  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  making 
use  of  the  horse  that  afterwards  ran  away. 
The  Indian  saw  him,  carried  his  note  to  Jen- 
nings, and  connived  at  his  escape,  allowing  him- 
self to  be  committed  in  his  place. ' ' 

"What  could  have  induced  him  to  do  that?" 
asked  Nelson,  incredulously. 

Burke  made  no  answer  to  the  question. 

" Fairfax  loved  his  daughter  devotedly,"  he 
continued.  uHe  disappeared  from  that  time. 
If  living,  he  would  long  ago  have  made  the  fact 
known  to  her." 

"All  that  is  strong  circumstantial  evidence, 
but  no  proof,"  said  Nelson.  "There  is  only 
one  man  who  could  testify  to  the  truth,  and 
that  is  the  Indian  himself ;  and  there  is  the  one 
weak  link  in  your  chain  of  suppositions.  No 
innocent  man  would  yield  without  a  struggle  to 
the  chance  of  death  on  the  gallows.  I  remem- 
297 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

her  that  it  impressed  me  as  strong  evidence  of 
his  guilt  that  the  prisoner  had  not  a  word  to  say 
in  his  own  defence.  He  could  give  no  explana- 
tion of  his  presence  at  the  scene  of  the  murder, 
but  kept  up  a  dogged  silence." 

Burke  knew  at  last  the  reason  for  Antonio's 
silence.  This  to  him  was  the  strongest  link  in 
the  chain  of  evidence.  Antonio  had  loved 
Dorothea  with  a  love  which  had  been  stronger 
than  the  fear  of  death.  Burke  made  no  com- 
ment on  Nelson's  last  remarks. 

"To  me  it  is  all  as  clear  as  day,"  he  said, 
4 'and my  duty  is  plain.  I  must  take  immediate 
steps  to  arrange  for  a  re-opening  of  the  case. 
You  can  keep  silence,  Nelson,  for  the  present. 
I  will  go  to-morrow  to  visit  Lachusa,  and  find 
out  the  truth  of  the  matter.  He  will  be  willing 
now  to  speak.  His  vicarious  punishment  has 
been  a  long  one." 

"Don't  be  obstinate,  Burke,"  said  Nelson. 
"A  man's  first  duty  is  to  his  family.  With  the 
Indian's  testimony,  supposing  that  he  is  inno- 
cent as  you  believe,  you  can  procure  his  pardon 
from  the  Governor,  and  you  will  have  influence 
enough  to  arrange  that  the  reason  for  it  shall 
not  transpire.  The  Indian  has  kept  the  secret 
for  some  reason,  and  he  will  keep  it  longer, 
since  he  can  ask  no  more  than  freedom.  Your 
298 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

conscience  will  be  satisfied,  and  your  wife  and 
children  spared  disgrace  and  sorrow." 

"But  the  Indian  will  always  bear  the  stain  of 
guilt,"  answered  Burke. 

"An  Indian!"  said  Nelson,  scornfully. 
"How  can  it  matter  if  he  does?" 

"Perhaps  my  wife  has  converted  me,"  said 
Burke,  with  a  sad  smile.  "I  am  beginning  to 
believe  that  Indians  are  beings  like  ourselves, 
with  human  affections  and  human  feelings." 

Nelson  gave  a  scornful  snort.  "You  are  the 
last  man  I  thought  likely  to  become  a  senti- 
mentalist," he  said.  "Your  good,  hard  sense 
was  one  of  your  greatest  virtues." 

"You  will  lay  it  to  the  effect  of  marriage,  and 
become  more  than  ever  confirmed  in  bachelor- 
hood. Well,  the  moon  is  rising.  Let  us  go 
on." 

The  waning  moon  appeared  with  more  than 
its  customary  suggestion  of  dismal  deformity. 
Burke  felt  that  he  was  moving  in  a  miserable 
dream  as  he  and  Nelson,  guided  by  the  uncer- 
tain light,  made  their  way  over  the  dangerous 
cliffs  to  the  bottom  of  the  glen  where  the  white 
bones  gleamed  from  the  shadow  which  obscured 
all  other  objects.  The  gradual  disintegration 
of  the  mountain-side  and  the  silting  of  debris 
by  wind  and  water  had  filled  the  bottom  of  the 
299 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

little  canon  with  a  bed  of  earth.  Here  the  two 
men  fell  to  work  to  dig  a  grave ;  and  when  it 
was  finished  the  remains  were  taken  up  as 
reverently  as  might  be  and  deposited  within  it. 

They  built  a  cairn  of  stones  above  the  grave, 
and  Burke  tied  two  sticks  together  in  the  shape 
of  a  cross  and  set  it  up  to  mark  the  spot. 

" Shall  you  say  a  prayer?"  whispered  Nelson, 
awed  by  the  unusual  character  of  the  task  he 
was  engaged  in,  and  by  the  hush  of  the  night 
in  that  lonely  spot. 

"God  be  merciful  to  the  sin  of  man,"  said 
Burke,  as  he  stood  with  uncovered  head  and 
eyes  uplifted  to  the  bright  strip  of  sky  that 
roofed  their  cavern  of  shadow, 


300 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Tony  went  with  his  father  on  his  trip  to  San 
Francisco  and  the  north.  It  was  his  first 
adventure  into  the  great  world,  and  Burke's 
melancholy  thoughts  were  diverted  by  the 
necessity  of  seeing  everything  with  his  son's  eyes 
and  responding  to  his  enthusiasms. 

Nothing  could  daunt  Tony's  youthful  cour- 
age. He  found  the  gloom  of  a  prison  interest- 
ing; but  when  his  father  left  him  in  the 
warden's  parlor  while  he  went  to  visit  a  prisoner 
in  his  cell,  the  boy  endured  in  silence  the  name- 
less terrors  of  imagination  which  assail  child- 
hood, fancying  himself  forgotten  and  immured 
there,  and  rehearsing  the  details  of  grewsome 
events  while  the  warden's  wife  believed  her 
silent  guest  to  be  engrossed  in  a  picture  book. 

Burke  was  conducted  through  echoing  cor- 
ridors to  a  distant  wing  of  the  building,  where 
he  was  introduced  into  Antonio's  cell. 

"It  is  not  visiting  hours,  but  we  give  him 

extra  privileges,"  said  the  turnkey  on  the  way. 

"He  must  have  been  drunk  when  he  did  the 

crime.     It's  the  only  way  we  can  explain  it,  for 

301 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

he's  the  finest  man  we've  ever  had  within  these 
walls.  Two  years  ago  he  quelled  a  mutiny 
among  the  convicts  and  saved  our  lives.  We 
haven't  forgotten  it.  We  give  him  the  best  we 
can,  but  that's  not  enough.  He  ought  to  be 
pardoned  out  for  good  behavior." 

The  door  was  unlocked,  opened,  and  locked 
again  behind  him,  and  Burke,  with  some  em- 
barrassment, found  himself  alone  with  Antonio 
the  convict. 

The  Indian's  glossy  black  hair  was  cropped 
close,  his  tall,  athletic  figure  was  disfigured  by 
the  hideous  striped  suit,  but  his  eyes  were 
bright  and  his  look  serene. 

"Mr.  Burke!"  he  said  in  surprise,  bowing  as 
if  to  do  the  honors  of  his  cell,  while  he  took  the 
hand  which  his  visitor  extended,  and  looked 
with  anxiety  into  his  agitated  face.  "Is  all 
well?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"My  wife  is  well,"  said  Burke,  answering 
the  inner  purpose  of  the  question.  "She  does 
not  know  of  my  visit  to  you." 

Eelieved  from  his  one  fear,  Antonio  smiled 
and  waited  for  Burke  to  speak. 

"I  will  proceed  at  once  to  the  point,"  said 

the  latter.     "I  have  come  to  arrange  matters 

with  you  so  that  I  may  at  once  petition  for  a 

new  trial  of  your  case.     The  murderer  of  Sam- 

302 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

uel  Jennings  has  been  discovered,  himself  a 
corpse,  a  mouldering  skeleton  on  the  mountain 
where  he  met  his  death  on  the  night  of  the 
sand-storm  so  long  ago.  He  was  identified  by 
the  belt  he  wore.  His  name  was  Edward  Fair- 
fax. He  was  my  wife's  father. " 

Antonio  clutched  at  the  back  of  the  chair 
before  him.  His  head  swam  giddily.  "Does 
she  know  it?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

"I  have  not  yet  told  her,"  said  Burke. 
"That  will  come  later.  I  will  break  it  by 
degrees.  I  want  first  of  all  to  take  down  your 
testimony.  Are  you  ready  to  give  me  the  exact 
account  of  your  meeting  with  Fairfax  and  all 
that  followed  it?" 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Antonio.  "Let  me 
know  what  it  is  you  offer  me. ' ' 

"Eelease  and  exoneration,"  replied  Burke. 
"A  new  trial  and  public  vindication.  That  will 
be  little  in  return  for  what  you  have  already 
suffered." 

"Mr.  Burke,"  said  Antonio,  "do  you  know 
now  why  I  kept  silence?" 

"I  can  guess,"  said  Burke,  with  averted  eyes. 

"You  do  not  blame  me?"  asked  Antonio 

"Only  for  injustice  to  yourself,"  replied 
Burke. 

"Then  put  yourself  in  my  place.  After  risk- 
303 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

ing  death,  and  gladly  accepting  life  imprison- 
ment, is  it  likely  that  I  would  give  up  my 
purpose  at  this  late  day?  What  new  motive 
could  there  be  to  induce  me  to  purchase  my 
freedom  at  the  cost  of  her  suffering?" 

"It  is  simple  justice.  You  owe  it  to  your- 
self." 

"I  refuse  once  and  for  all,"  answered  An- 
tonio. "I  even  prefer  that  you  should  remain 
in  ignorance  of  the  details  of  the  murder.  The 
dead  man  is  beyond  the  reach  of  justice.  Let 
his  crime  be  forgotten." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Burke  felt  an  immense 
lightening  of  the  heart.  He  knew  by  Antonio's 
look  and  tone  that  it  would  be  useless  to  combat 
this  resolution. 

"There  is  another  way,"  he  said.  "I  should 
be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  your  complete 
exoneration;  but  I  can  obtain  the  Governor's 
pardon  for  you,  and. the  few  who  must  be 
acquainted  with  the  reasons  for  it  will  keep 
silence  for  my  sake.  You  will  be  free.  If  you 
insist  that  it  must  be  so,  my  wife  need  never 
know  the  truth.  I  am  ashamed  to  offer  this 
compromise  with  justice,  but  it  is  my  most 
earnest  wish  to  secure  your  release." 

Antonio  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow, where  he  stood  looking  out  over  the  wide 
304 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

prospect  of  hill  and  dale,  interrupted  in  the 
foreground  by  the  formidably  impassable  prison 
wall.  His  heart  bounded  with  the  thought  of 
recovered  freedom.  He  longed  to  realize  the 
dreams  that  haunted  him  day  and  night; 
dreams  of  the  open  mesa  stretching  on  and  on 
to  the  horizon,  bounded  above  by  the  fathom- 
less vault  of  sky,  and  on  either  side  by  the  ever- 
receding  hills,  bounded  at  its  furthest  limit  only 
by  the  circumference  of  the  round  world; 
dreams  of  the  open  ocean  where  the  wind  blew 
strong  and  free,  dashing  the  salt  spray  into  his 
face,  and  where  the  vastness  of  the  horizon  was 
that  of  infinity;  dreams  of  the  smell  of  the 
white  sage  and  the  murmur  of  bees  and  the 
warmth  of  the  bosom  of  mother  earth ;  dreams 
of  friendly  intercourse  with  his  kind,  and  the 
commonplace  activities  of  life. 

Across  these  fancies  there  fell  one  haunting 
shadow,  and  turning  to  meet  Burke's  look  this 
shadow  was  upon  his  face. 

"No,  Mr.  Burke,"  he  said.  "There  is  no 
place  in  this  wide  world  where  a  man  with  the 
stain  of  blood  upon  him  can  find  peace.  I  must 
go  out  free  from  that  or  I  must  stay  and  bide 
my  time.  The  first  I  refuse,  for  I  would  be  a 
faithless  man  to  let  ten  years  alter  my  mind  in 
that.  I  made  the  sacrifice  willingly  and  I  have 
305 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

been  happy  in  it.  I  am  young  and  strong  yet. 
I  am  thirty-three.  There  may  be  forty  years  of 
prison  life  before  me,  but  each  one  of  those  I 
freely  offer  to  the  woman  whom  I  have  loved,  as 
I  would  have  offered  them  in  duty  and  devotion 
to  her  if  God  had  willed  that  my  soul  should 
inhabit  a  white  man's  body." 

Burke  bowed  his  head,  feeling  both  touched 
and  humbled,  and  conscious  of  a  choking  sensa- 
tion in  his  throat.  He  paused  long  before  he 
spoke;  then  he  said,  "Do  nothing  rashly. 
Take  time  to  reconsider  your  decision. " 

"I  need  no  time,"  replied  Antonio.  "It  is 
not  as  if  I  had  not  thought  of  everything.  You 
men  in  the  world  act,  but  yon  do  not  reflect. 
A  prisoner  or  a  monk  alone  has  time  for  medi- 
tation. On  any  subject  that  you  could  suggest 
I  have  already  prepared  a  line  of  reasoning  and 
arrived  at  a  conclusion.  I  have  considered 
what  my  position  might  be  if,  after  long  years 
and  in  consequence  of  good  behavior,  the  Gov- 
ernor should  pardon  me.  I  would  be  free. 
The  mere  thought  has  been  a  joy.  But  after 
that?  After  the  strangeness  had  grown  to 
familiarity,  and  I  had  ceased  to  recognize  the 
blessing  of  wide  spaces  and  unfettered  move- 
ments, what  place  would  there  be  for  me  upon 
earth? 

306 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  might  go  back  to  Casa  Blanca.  Your 
noble  wife  might  give  me  work  there.  She 
might  meet  me  as  a  friend.  But  you  would  be 
uneasy  if  by  any  look  she  showed  acquaintance 
with  the  Indian  ex-convict.  For  her  sake  and 
out  of  regard  for  your  generosity  I  must  plan  to 
keep  beyond  her  sight.  Your  children  would 
shudder  if  they  should  chance  to  touch  my 
hand,  for  they  would  be  told  that  it  was  stained 
with  blood.  People  would  draw  aside  from  me. 
My  fellow  workmen  would  avoid  me.  Marta, 
my  poor  disgraced  sister,  would  be  faithful  to 
me,  but  my  presence  would  bring  a  deeper 
shadow  upon  her  home.  I  might  go  into  the 
world.  What  opening  is  there  for  an  Indian? 
I  am  fitted  to  be  a  professor  of  dead  languages. 
Would  the  position  await  me?  I  would  take 
most  interest  in  a  political  career.  I  have  not 
even  a  vote.  I  might  enlist  in  the  army  and 
join  an  Indian  regiment,  or  be  appointed  as  an 
Indian  police,  but  the  stain  of  blood  would  still 
be  upon  me.  I  would  be  a  marked  man,  cut  off 
from  the  confidence  of  my  superiors.  I  would 
at  last  find  the  loneliness  of  solitude  among  a 
crowd  a  hundred-fold  more  desolate  than  the 
loneliness  of  my  cell. 

"On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Burke,"  and  here 
his  tone  grew  cheerful  and  the  light  came  back 
307 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

into  his  eyes,  "I  have  many  blessings  here.  No 
man  looks  upon  me  as  especially  disgraced.  My 
keepers  are  kind  and  generous,  and  grant  me  as 
many  privileges  as  the  law  allows.  My  fellow 
convicts  have  many  of  them  become  my  friends. 
They  consult  me  as  if  they  valued  my  advice. 
I  have  influence  with  them.  I  have  the  blessing 
of  regular  work.  "We  are  not  forced  to  sit  in 
idleness ;  but  my  task  is  easy,  and  when  it  grows 
wearisome  from  repetition  I  am  permitted  to 
vary  it.  I  am  allowed  to  have  that  fixed  bar 
and  swinging  trapeze  for  exercise  in  my  cell. 
That  is  a  great  favor  specially  procured  for  me 
as  a  reward  for  my  conduct  at  the  time  of  the 
mutiny.  By  regular  exercise,  I  am  able  to  keep 
my  body  in  good  condition.  I  have  books  to 
read,  and  in  my  spare  moments  I  am  translating 
the  Greek  Septuagint.  When  one  looks  for- 
ward to  forty  years  of  routine  it  is  well  to  take 
up  some  study  that  has  matter  in  it.  After 
that  I  will  begin  on  the  Hebrew.  I  am  not  so 
good  in  that.  Then,  as  you  see,  I  have  a  box 
of  plants  in  my  window,  which  is  one  of  the 
best  in  the  prison.  I  am  making  experiments 
in  the  germination  of  seeds." 

Here  he  paused,  and  after  a  slight  hesitation 
continued:    " There    is   another    thing.      You 
have  been  so  nobly  generous,  Mr.  Burke,  that  I 
308 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

am  willing  to  speak  from  the  heart ;  and  that  is 
the  great  advantage  of  my  position.  You  toler- 
ate from  the  life  prisoner,  who  is  almost,  like  a 
disembodied  spirit,  what  you  would  deeply 
resent  from  any  man,  most  of  all  from  an 
Indian.  Your  wife  allows  me  to  write  to  her 
once  a  month,  and  she  answers  my  letters. 
There  is  little  that  is  personal  in  them ;  but  she 
has  made  me  her  overseer  among  the  Indians ; 
and  at  this  distance  I  am  still  able  to  help  my 
people.  I  give  advice ;  I  regulate  the  distribu- 
tion of  her  charity ;  and  this  is  all  unknown  to 
them. 

"As  for  any  deeper  feeling,  I  have  never  in  my 
life  admitted  to  her,  as  I  have  to  you  to-day, 
that  I  have  loved  her.  How  could  I  dare  pre- 
sume, since  I  could  offer  her  nothing  but  my 
heart,  and  that  is  given  in  silence  as  we  worship 
the  infinite?  But  my  letters  are  a  help  to  her. 
She  tells  me  so ;  and  this  consciousness  and  the 
slender  link  of  sympathy  which  unites  our 
thoughts  make  for  me  the  joy  of  living.  Free- 
dom could  give  me  nothing  in  exchange  for  it." 

Burke  sat  in  meditative  silence.  Antonio, 
having  said  his  say,  spoke  no  more.  To  him 
there  was  nothing  irksome  in  inarticulate  mus- 
ing. He  did  not  make  haste,  as  restless  world- 
lings do,  to  fill  a  void  of  words. 
309 


A  SOUL  in  BKONZE 

Burke  at  last  rose  heavily,  like  a  man  who 
bears  unwilling  guilt  upon  his  conscience.  He 
offered  his  hand  to  Antonio,  and  the  Indian, 
grasping  it  warmly,  saw  with  wonder  that  there 
were  tears  in  the  older  man's  eyes. 

"Count  me  as  your  friend,"  said  Burke,  "and 
your  lifelong  debtor.  My  children  owe  their 
future  to  you.  We  owe  you  the  happiness  of 
our  family  life.  I  can  never  pay  the  debt.  My 
little  son  is  here  with  me.  He  is  waiting  in  the 
warden's  parlor.  I  will  bring  him  to  see  you, 
and  ask  him  to  thank  you  for  us." 

Antonio  waited  with  a  throbbing  heart  while 
Burke  was  gone  upon  this  errand.  He  looked 
into  his  little  mirror,  anxious  for  the  first  time 
in  years  as  to  the  impression  which  he  should 
make.  He  glanced  regretfully  at  his  striped 
suit,  thinking  it  might  startle  a  child's  fancy; 
but  Burke  had  prepared  his  son  for  this,  and 
the  little  Tony  had  inborn  tact. 

When  he  entered  he  brought  a  beam  of  sun- 
shine with  him.  In  all  these  years  Antonio  had 
seen  no  children,  and  he  had  a  strong  man's 
instinctive  love  for  them. 

The  warmth  of  welcome  in  his  eyes  spoke 
straight  to  Tony's  heart.     The  child  walked  up 
to  the  prisoner  and  held  out  his  hand,  which 
Antonio  grasped  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 
310 


A  SOUL  in  BRONZE 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  yon  my  papa  came  to 
see,"  said  Tony,  "or  I  would  have  been  up  here 
before.  I  was  playing  prisoner  downstairs,  and 
I  did  not  like  it  at  all.  I  am  sorry  you  have  to 
be  shut  up  here.  I  know  a  lot  about  you. 
Why,  I  was  named  after  you,  so  you  must  be 
my  god-father." 

He  took  a  chair  and  looked  with  serious 
friendliness  into  Antonio's  beaming  face. 

"What  are  you  here  for,  anyway?"  continued 
Tony,  since  it  appeared  that  the  burden  of  the 
conversation  fell  on  him. 

"On  a  false  charge,"  his  father  hastened  to 
reply.  "Men  are  sometimes  imprisoned  by 
mistake." 

"Oh,  papa,  you  must  get  him  out,"  said  Tony. 

"Never  mind  that,  dear  child,"  answered 
Antonio.  "It  is  possible  to  be  quite  happy  in 
prison." 

Tony  looked  at  the  high,  barred  window,  the 
bare  floor,  the  cheerless  walls,  and  his  little  lip 
quivered.  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and 
drew  out  a  new  two-bladed  knife,  his  greatest 
treasure. 

"Take  that,"  he  said  to  Antonio,  averting  hia 
look  to  hide  his  tearful  eyes,  as  well  as  to  avoid 
the  full  consciousness  of  the  sacrifice  he  was 
making. 

311 


A  SOUL  in  BEONZE 

Antonio  held  the  present  in  his  palm,  uncer- 
tain how  he  might  accept  or  refuse  the  gift. 

"You  have  done  well,  Tony,"  said  Burke. 
"There  is  nothing  I  can  give  Mr.  Lachusa  that 
can  repay  him  for  what  he  has  done  for  me  and 
for  you." 

"Then  we  are  even,"  said  Tony,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

He  was  now  quite  ready  to  go,  but  after 
Burke  had  again  shaken  Antonio's  hand,  Tony 
hesitated  and  whispered  to  his  father. 

"Tony  is  not  quite  sure  but  that  he  is  too 
much  of  a  man  for  kisses,"  Burke  explained, 
"but  he  says  that  as  long  as  you  are  his  god- 
father he  would  like  to  kiss  you  good-bye." 

Antonio  stooped  and  pressed  the  child's  form 
to  his  heart  and  his  lips  to  his  own.  The  door 
closed  behind  his  visitors,  and  they  were  gone. 
He  was  once  more  alone ;  alone  for  a  lifetime. 

He  flung  himself  upon  his  knees. 

"God  grant  me  patience,  and  the  victory  of 
peace,"  he  prayed,  resisting  the  wild  uprising 
of  thoughts  and  wishes  long  since  stifled.  "Let 
it  be  enough  for  my  life's  joy  that  I  have  felt 
upon  my  lips  the  kiss  of  her  child. ' ' 

THE    END 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


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